Hearts on Fire
by VintageVillain
Summary: Sequel to Burning Hearts. Three years after his return, Sherlock is balancing his detective world with being an attentive boyfriend and father. Quite happily, I might add. What force is strong enough to break up the domestic bliss?
1. Chapter 1

**Hearts on fire**

**Chapter one – Prologue**

**Sequel to Burning Hearts. Three years after his return, Sherlock is balancing his detective world with being an attentive boyfriend and father. Quite happily, I might add. What force is strong enough to break up the domestic bliss? **

**A/N: Welcome back – was on a roll after the last chapter of BH, so I thought I'd get started. Henry is about 5 and three quarters in the beginning of this story. **

Molly stretched her hands above her head, pressing them against the headboard and extending her toes. A groan left her as her back snapped. It was Saturday, the day of the Hooper-Holmes family lie in, where no one would leave their beds until it was necessary.

Running her hand down the other side of her bed, however, she realised that this morning that was not the case. Sherlock's side was empty and cool; he had been gone for a while.

It was not unexpected. At least four mornings a week she awoke to an empty bed, with Sherlock having run off to solve a crime, or more than likely, having never come to bed the night before.

The household dynamic was unusual to say the least. Molly had heard of families having rules, but she knew that her family rules were a little unusual. No talk of gruesome murders at the dinner table. No experiments on the carpet. Dad had to be home, on average, 4 nights a week, to at least tuck in Henry.

When she had added that one to the list, she had expected him to dismiss it as sentiment. The idea of Sherlock tucking in their son had been laughable at first, but he had been working hard to adapt to Sherlock the father as well as the consulting detective. He had ensured that he was home most nights of the week (unless the case was an 8 or above) to tuck Henry in. Some nights he stayed. Other nights he tucked Molly in too and then left again, searching the city for something to do.

Domesticating Sherlock Holmes had been a challenge that molly had succeeded in early on. Sure, she would still sometimes catch him storing petri dishes in the pantry or making Henry bring him his phone that is only an inch away, but overall, he was progressing.

And as far as she knew, domestic bliss made him happy.

Molly stretched again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, retrieving one of Sherlock's old bathrobes she slipped it on and made her way into the kitchen.

Henry's bedroom door was open. His room had changed a little over the last 3 years, covered now in posters of his favourite sport. For his fifth birthday Mary had given him a football jersey. Since then, he had been obsessed with football, watching every game with Aunt Mary and insisting they go to the park to kick the ball around. Uncle John had been heartbroken that his wife had gotten in first with a sport that wasn't rugby, but was willing to support his nephew's choice. Sherlock had conceded to let him play, acknowledging that as long as he also had a healthy interest in science, he didn't really mind.

She continued down the hallway, hearing the television on. Henry often woke himself up and turned the TV on so that he could watch cartoons. Molly and Sherlock had been trying to monitor his television watching, but it was difficult now that he was tall enough to reach the on switch.

Molly paused at the end of the hallway when she heard her son give an exasperated sigh. She peeked around the corner, and was a little surprised at what she saw. The curly dark head of her son was barely visible, sitting beside an identical, albeit taller, version of himself.

Sherlock let out a matching sigh. "I just don't understand Henry."

"Dad!" henry sighed. Even from her eavesdropping position in the hall, she could picture the miniature Sherlock rolling his eyes. Henry had started taking on his father's mannerisms when he was about 4 and a half. Sometimes it was amusing, other times it was annoying. Especially when Sherlock and Henry both hit her with the puppy-dog eyes at exactly the same time. "Do I really have to explain it all again?"

"Maybe just once more" Sherlock replied in a soft tone. Molly had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing and giving away her position. She could tell the tone was fake. He understood exactly what they were talking about. It was Sherlock Holmes, he understood almost everything.

"Right, listen carefully Dada" Henry began, in a tone that reminded her so much to Sherlock. Usually when he was explaining something obvious to Anderson. "The yellow one is SpongeBob"

"And he's a sponge?" Sherlock confirmed.

"Obviously" again, a tone that mirrored his father's left his mouth. "The pink one is Patrick; they are best friends, like you and Uncle John."

"And he lives in a pineapple?" Sherlock asked, this time letting a tone of bafflement enter his voice. "Under the sea"

"Yes Da" Henry smiled. "They work together."

"Oh, I remember this" Sherlock grinned, looking down at Henry in an attempt to impress him with his knowledge on the subject. "He works at the crunchy crab"

"Krusty Krab" he corrected softly. "They work for that funny looking fella there, which is Squid ward"

"Squidward. Right" Sherlock laughed. "I think what I really don't get is why there is a squirrel. And how they can have a campfire under water?"

Molly thought this was a moment for her to enter. Sherlock looked over the back of the sofa when he heard her approach. Molly bent to place a kiss in his curls, and then did the same to the curly head of her son. "Good morning men"

Engrossed in his television show, Henry did not respond. Sherlock nudged him, bringing his attention back "your mother said good morning"

Henry looked up, smiled apologetically and said "Morning ma" before going back to his television show.

Molly turned towards the kitchen to make them breakfast. Sherlock stood and followed. "I am going to start monitoring his TV usage a bit better. His favourite show is about a sponge that lives in water."

Molly laughed as she took the ingredients for French toast out of the fridge. "Yours is a talk show about women who don't know the fathers of their children. You can't exactly talk about quality television"

Five minutes later, after some talented multitasking from Molly, a cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, was placed beside him. Sherlock, as a thank you, pulled Molly into his lap and kissed her cheek. "Thank you"

Molly pulled him in for an actual kiss which soon began to grow in passion. The pair only broke apart when a giggle separated them. Henry had ventured into the kitchen to find out where his breakfast was and discovered a scene that he saw often. He liked that his mum and dad loved each other so much. Henry had been too young to remember, but he was pretty sure that there had been a time when his dad and mum had not been together.

Henry sat across from Sherlock, who poured him a glass of juice.

"Thanks Da" he smiled, taking the glass in two hands and lifting it to his mouth. He drained the whole thing in one go, despite his dad's warning to slow down. When he placed the empty glass on the table, he smiled brightly as though remembering something. "Hey, am I an uncle yet?"

"Uncle?"

Henry took a second to realise what he had done and then shook his head, smiling at his own silliness. He often confused his words, but it was fine, because according to uncle Mycroft, his dad used to do that when he was little too. It was something about his mouth and brain working at different speeds. "Cousin. Has Aunt Mary had the baby yet?"

"Not yet" Molly grinned, putting the first batch of toast on the table. Henry waited patiently as his dad first put a slice on a plate for his mum, and then put a piece on Henry's plate. "Any day now though."

Henry took a small bight, and thought as he chewed. "I hope it's a boy, so I can teach it all about football"

"You can teach a girl how to play football too" Molly said, glancing over her shoulder at her two men as they enjoyed their breakfast. "I used to play football you know"

Sherlock and Henry both looked at Molly in awe. That was a fact even the grand consulting detective didn't know. "When?"

"In high school. And through university" she returned, flipping the toast in the pan with a flourish. "I was on the St. Bart's social mixed side for a season just after Henry was born too"

She turned to see her son staring at her with a 'wow, you're so cool' look on his face. Molly fluffed his hair just as someone knocked politely on the door, and then entered without being let in.

"Sherlock, we have a case, I need you…"Detective inspector Greg Lestrade paused in the doorway to the kitchen, looking around the room. "Sorry Molls didn't mean to interrupt family breakfast. Hi Henry"

Henry quickly swallowed another mouthful of his toast before saying "Hi Uncle Greg"

"This case, what is it?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

"It's an 8" was all he said in response, dismissing Molly with a smile as she offered him a piece of toast. Sherlock's face brightened. "You'll want to be in on it"

"Call John!" Sherlock yelled as he ran down the hall to change out of his pyjamas. Henry laughed at his father's exciting antics.

"Oh no you don't" Molly added, loud enough to be heard from their bedroom at the other end of the hall. "Mary could go into labour any minute now, you are not dragging John away…"

"So, that's not that important" Sherlock replied, having dressed in record time, pulling his suit jacket over his purple shirt. "It's just a baby, their first; they want heaps so he'll have plenty of opportunity…"

Lestrade let his jaw drop while Molly rolled her eyes. It had been three years since his return, but there were still some elements of sentiment that Sherlock was not familiar with. Sherlock had his 'Bit not good' face on while he looked from Greg, to Molly, and then stared at Henry. "I mean, well… I wasn't present when Henry was born, and …"

Luckily, Sherlock had to good grace to stop speaking. Henry, who over the last few years had become accustomed to his mother glaring at his dad when he said the wrong thing, just giggled. It seemed his father was always saying silly things.

"Well, Lestrade, you'll just have to be my assistant today" Sherlock replied.

"No!" Lestrade barked. "Contrary to your belief, I am a very important person at a crime scene"

"And yet, here you are, asking me for help" Sherlock smiled.

Henry jumped up from his breakfast plate "I'll go Dad! I'll be your assistant! Can't be too hard, Uncle John does it…"

Sherlock smirked at the fact that his son had just insulted John. Molly, on the other hand simply cried "You are not going anywhere Henry J!"

"But Mumma, Da's been teaching me all about ded...du…" he struggled with the word before looking up at Sherlock.

"Deductions" Sherlock reminded him.

"Deductions… its fun. I could be really helpful, couldn't I Da?" he looked up at Sherlock pleadingly. Sherlock was smart enough to recognise this as a volatile situation and knelt down.

"Not this time Henry" he began as democratically as possible. "I don't think that you are ready for crime scenes"

"But…"

"Crime scenes are tough. They are scary and dangerous" Sherlock replied, then looked over his shoulder at Lestrade, who nodded with his strong 'I am a police officer, don't mess with me' look on his face.

"I'll be brave Da!" Henry replied, puffing out his chest.

"This isn't about that mate, I know you're brave" Sherlock replied. Henry had proven himself brave years before during the kidnapping. Sherlock decided to change his tact "I can't let you come on crime scenes with me until you have completely finished your training in the science of deduction. We need to be trained up so that you…we, don't get hurt. How would mum feel if something was to happen to both of us?"

Henry found himself nodding. In one of their many father-son chats, they had discussed how important it was to always look after Mumma.

"Mum works today" Henry began, looking up at Molly. "Who is going to look after me if you're off on a case?"

Lestrade jumped in here. "Hey, it's Saturday… Doesn't Ali babysit you on a Saturday?"

Ali Lestrade, Greg's 20 year old daughter, was Henry's favourite babysitter. A month previous, Sherlock had been putting Henry to bed when he had told his dad a massive secret. He was in love with Ali. She was nice and pretty and smelled a bit like mum, she had a SpongeBob Squarepants phone case and like drawing pictures. Ali also worked in a bakery so always brought him cakes and pies and according to the 6 year old, that was the truest type of love. Henry had told his dad that night that he was going to marry Ali.

All thoughts of following his father to a crime scene were gone when he realised that she would be seeing his beloved that afternoon. He broke into a massive smile, cocked his head to the side, and said "Can I go watch more TV?"

Molly smiled and nodded at him, wishing she knew more about Sherlock's mind palace technique so that she could store that memory forever and ever. Sherlock crossed to her, kissed his pathologist on the cheek.

"Crime scenes are tough. They are scary and dangerous" she muttered, looking up at Sherlock, who smiled down at her.

After a soft kiss on her lips, he muttered "Don't worry, I'll be brave"

Seconds later, he was out the door and on to his next big adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hearts on Fire**

**Chapter 2**

Greg watched, honestly baffled, as Sherlock paused at the edge of the crime scene. Around them, officers rushed around doing their job, but Sherlock, it seemed, had forgotten how to move. At first Lestrade thought it was just because he was making a show of removing his scarf, but even after the coat had been stuffed into his pocket, the consulting detective made no move to progress towards the location of the victim.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the Inspector. The pause was borderline awkward as Sherlock raised an eyebrow and then stared pointedly at the blue and white crime scene tape. Greg stared at it too, wondering what was with this peculiar behaviour from his colleague. "John always lifts the crime scene tape for me"

"John… always…" Greg said each word slowly, testing its weight on his tongue. "John lifts the tape for you?"

Sherlock nodded, his face taking on its usual 'obviously' grimace. Greg shook his head, disappointed. John sure did let their friend get away with too much. The detective inspector ducked under the tape with a smirk and progressed into the crime scene alone. "Lift your own tape this time Holmes."

It was almost a minute later, after Lestrade had announced his arrival at the scene to his men, that Donovan's voice interrupted his silent observation of the scene again. "Why's the freak standing on the other side of the tape?"

Lestrade looked back to where Sherlock was standing. The stubborn man was standing exactly where he had been left and he was staring. Greg sighed. It was like working with a child.

"I am not lifting the tape for you Sherlock" he yelled back.

Sherlock shrugged. "I never lift the tape"

"You are infuriating" Lestrade sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way over to the other man, knowing he was going to fold and do as he asked. Begrudgingly, Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard lifted the crime scene tape. Sherlock ducked under it. "I can't believe Molly hasn't killed you yet. If she did, I wouldn't convict her you know. I would ignore key evidence"

"Without me, you wouldn't have able to find key evidence" Sherlock stated, stepping up the steps to the front door that housed the crime scene. "What are we working with?"

"Single victim, female, 29 years old. Killed quite brutally." That was all Sherlock needed to hear; he turned the handle and opened the front door, entering the living room crime scene.

The pristine, all-white décor was now smeared with blood, every surface stained red. In the middle of the living room, draped across the coffee table, was the victim. She was shirtless, face down, her bare back exposed. Well, what was left of it anyway.

"Her name is Rebecca, Rebecca Eliz…"

"I don't care" Sherlock replied, cutting of the other detective as he knelt beside the corpse and lifted some of the brown hair off of the side of her face. "Bruising on the cheek here… before her death, a few hours before her death. Different attacker."

"Different attacker, how can you be so sure?"

"The bruising was a crime of passion, a domestic abuse case, open and shut." Sherlock stated, moving around behind the victim to take in the case from a different angle. "This, the shredding of her skin, this was a crime of brutality. No, the bruising was done by a different man" he straightened again and crossed to the mantle. "This man…"

Sherlock held out a photograph of the woman and an older man, both dressed neatly for some sort of high society social event and holding champagne glasses. "The husband"

"The husband did it?"

"No, the husband didn't." Sherlock replied quickly, very sure of himself. "But the husband is the key… find the husband"

"How is the husband the key?" Greg asked. Sherlock sighed and shot the older man his patented 'aren't you following?' glare.

"The murderer is sending a message to the husband" Sherlock replied, pulling his scarf from his pocket and retying it around his neck.. "Brutalising the wife in such a fashion. Yes, the husband was abusive, but the murderer was after the husband. Find the husband and call me when you have him in for questioning. Find out if he had any enemies. Have the body sent to Molly at the Morgue."

Lestrade watched, unfazed as the man exited the house. After approximately ten years of working with Sherlock, he was sure that he would be used to his behaviour by now. But alas, it was still as baffling as ever. He turned to the officers in the room and barked. "You heard the man, let's go"

Molly stood at her computer, compiling her findings on the case she had just completed. It was an open and closed murder investigation (Molly briefly wondered when she started describing murders as open and closed), and as the lead pathologist on the case her medical testimony would have to be read in court.

About a year after the return of Sherlock to her life, she had been offered a promotion again. The same promotion that she had been offered just after Henry was born. This time, however, she had taken it. With Sherlock home to help with the parenting duties, plus the continued support of the rest of the team, she felt well equipped to take on the additional challenge. The money was good and the hours were flexible enough to still give her time at home with her men. Plus, the coolest thing about the job was the fact that she now had business cards that said Doctor Molly Hooper, head of Forensic Pathology.

At the end of the report she typed in her details. Identification and Registration number: 2877639R. Position: Head of Forensic Pathology at St. Bartholomew's. Name: Molly Holmes.

She hesitated, stared at the screen in front of her, and hit backspace six times. Why had she typed Molly Holmes? That wasn't her name. Quickly she typed Hooper in the space and hit save. Then she double and triple checked that it had changed and saved completely.

That was unusual. She had been in some strange autopilot mode, and apparently, her brain on autopilot thought her name was Molly Holmes, it seemed. Maybe all of the external pressure was finally getting to her.

A year ago it had started, quite innocently. Mary had finally gotten around to enlarging one of her and John's wedding photos and placing it above the fire place at Baker st. Molly had been admiring it, when Mary had asked. "When are you and Sherlock going to get married?"

Molly had spluttered her way through a response before turning to her laughing friend, who knew that the pair would probably never marry and had just been playing. But it seemed that as soon as an idea was out in the universe, it was there to stay.

Mrs Hudson had been the next to ask why Molly was not planning a wedding to Sherlock. Molly had reminded her that Sherlock was yet to ask, to which Mrs Hudson had laughed and said "by now dear, I am sure you've realised that if you just make a plan on Sherlock's behalf, he will go along with it."

Most people, when they found out that they had been together for 6 years (it was easier to say six years then what it was to explain the faked death, exile and return) asked the same thing. "Any plans to marry."

They had used all the excuses in the book: "Things are going really well with our careers at the moment, we can't take time off", "we don't need a piece of paper to prove that we love each other". "If it's not broken, why fix it" (and Molly's least favourite was Sherlock's snap of "Don't be ridiculous" whenever someone asked him.)

To say that Molly hadn't thought about it would be a lie. Most women planned their wedding, especially once they were in a relationship with the man that they knew they would spend the rest of their life with. But there was just no way of broaching the subject, she knew that Sherlock loved her, and that was all she could ask for really.

The door to the morgue swung open again, and Molly made one last check that she was not submitting a document with a false name on it before turning. The familiar presence there made her smile.

Sherlock strode in, undoing his scarf. "I am here to see a body Molly"

Consulting-Detective-Sherlock was before her, not Partner-and-father-Sherlock, but that was fine with her. Molly had put some rather strict guidelines into place when she had been promoted. She would not be bringing home any samples, she would not be giving him free access to her new lab and he was not to undermine her or her intelligence on forensic pathology matters under any circumstances. Sherlock, of course, had managed to steal numerous samples that she had found at home, break into her lab and use it without permission, and in the biggest row they had ever had, a row that John still referred to as the 'Death match' Sherlock had corrected her pathological findings, publically, in a full court in one of the highest profile cases of the previous year. (Sherlock had been banished to the lounge for almost two weeks before he realised what he had done and apologised.)

"Which one?" Molly asked, turning and picking up her clipboard which had a list of every single body in the morgue.

That's when Sherlock remembered that he had not let Lestrade finish her name at the crime scene.

"It started with R" Sherlock began.

"You know I need more then that Sherlock" Molly sighed, smiling at him as he retreated into his mind palace, retracing the conversation from earlier.

"Rebecca Elizabeth?"

"Why Mr Holmes, is that a question I detect in your voice?" Molly laughed, looking down at her clipboard. "I've never really known you to be unsure of anything"

Sherlock just shot her his 'I am not amused' look. That just made Molly chuckle. "I don't have a Rebecca Elizabeth, but I have a Rebecca Elizabeth Draper, who I was just about to move on to. She is in exam room three."

"Then lead the way, my dear" Sherlock smiled. Molly cocked her head to the side, surprised by what she had just heard.

"You are going to let me lead?"

Sherlock pushed her forward with a firm hand at her lower back. "You know I love watching you work"

The body to Rebecca Elizabeth Draper, laid out in the direct light of exam room three, was horrifying. After years in her job, not much appalled Molly anymore. She could look at almost anything without feeling squeamish, but as she pulled back the sheet covering her patient today, Molly was glad Sherlock was in the room with her.

"Oh, this poor thing" she whispered, before starting the post mortem. "Evidence of domestic abuse. Bruises. A few hours old. Healing. Evidence of skin slicing, uniform…meticulous in its delivery. Usually I would suggest a whip, but in this distinct patterning, with no crisscrossing of the cuts and uniform length and distance, I would suggest a knife – maybe a sharp kitchen knife, chef's knife, or a scalpel. Not a hunting knife, as there is no serrating… this pattern continues front and back. the murderer sliced her… sliced her all the way down her front, from collar to hips, then… oh god Sherlock, then he turned her over and did the same to her back."

She paused in her observations as Sherlock gave her hand a gentle squeeze. For a split second, her lover, Sherlock, was comforting her in her lab, and for that she was supremely grateful.

"Anything else I can take to Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, slipping back into the colder, detective demeanour.

"Umm, well, I do have one theory" She whispered, moving around the body and investigating that theory. "Yep, positive for sexual activity… more than likely a violent sexual assault."

Sherlock nodded. He had assumed that also. He was just about to say as much when his phone beeped, signalling an incoming message. "I have to go, Lestrade is about to talk to her husband."

He turned on his heel began is exit, making it as far as the door before turning around and quickly heading back to Molly. He scooped her up in a surprising comforting embrace. "I'll try to get back to say good night to Henry"

Molly, acknowledging the fact that it was extremely unprofessional to do so, wrapped her arms around Sherlock's waist and breathed him in. "I will call you when I am finished with the official post mortem."

Sherlock kissed her forehead, strangely sensing that was exactly what Molly needed at that moment. "I will come home tonight, I promise"

The second time he attempted to leave, he actually made it out of the door.

Henry jumped up from the couch as he heard the front door open. He ran to it, stopping in his tracks when he saw that it was his mother. "Oh"

"Oh?" Molly asked, taking off her coat "Don't sound so disappointed that I am home"

"I thought maybe you'd be Da" he explained quickly. "But you being home is cool too! How was work? Did you do any cool autopsies today? Did you get to cut into a brain?"

Molly knelt down to hug him. "Is it ok if I say that I don't want to talk about it?"

"Sure Mumma" Henry grinned, then grabbed his mother's hand and pulled her into the living room. "Look what Ali and I made!"

The two large couches that had been in the living room where now the base of one of the largest living room forts Molly had ever seen. Sheets, blankets and pillows from around the house were also in what looked like the most comfortable palace ever.

"I am sorry Molly" a voice said from inside the fort, and soon after Ali struggled out of it, peeking her head out between two large sofa cushions. "Henry wanted to watch a movie about knights, and well, I am sorry, I'll clean it up right away"

"Don't Ali" Molly smiled, helping the young lady to her feet. "All this effort, it can stay."

Henry cheered. "Can I sleep out here tonight Mum? Please? I'll help clean it up in the morning"

Molly nodded, and Henry retreated back into his castle. Molly then turned back to Ali. "Tough day?"

Molly only sighed and smiled weakly at the younger girl, who was very perceptive. "I am glad to be home… thank you for looking after him."

"Molly, you know I love Henry. He is a really good kid. Smart too, he knew all types of stuff about castles."

Much like his father, he was knowledgeable about all sorts of things that he probably would never have any need for, other than the construction of forts.

"That's my boy" Molly smiled softly. Ali grabbed her coat "Do you need a ride home? Or to the tube station?"

"No" Ali replied, pulling her hair out of the back of her coat where it was trapped. "My new boyfriend is picking me up." She then hesitated. "Don't tell Dad I am seeing someone. Please!"

"Secrets safe" Molly promised. "But next time, you'll have to tell me about him"

"I will, I promise" Ali laughed. "Goodbye Henry!"

Henry's head popped out of the top of the fort. "See you next week Ali!"

"Bye Molls" Ali smiled, leaving the apartment. Molly closed the door behind her then toed off her shoes and climbed into her son's fort.

When Sherlock returned home, he paused in the door of the living room, taking out his phone. He knelt quietly, opened the camera function, and took a picture of what lay in front of him.

Henry was asleep on his side at the doorway of one of the biggest and most impressively constructed forts he had ever seen. Molly was spooned against his back, her arm wrapped protectively around his middle and her face buried in their son's curls. He hit the shutter button twice more.

"That was very sentimental of you" Molly whispered, her eyes cracking open.

Sherlock grinned and quickly set the picture as his lock screen photograph. Molly smiled as he then locked the phone and pocketed it. "I thought you were asleep"

"I never sleep well when you're out on a case." She admitted. "Not really"

She carefully removed herself from Henry and stood, straightening her skirt and blouse. "Any luck on Rebecca's killer?"

"Draper's killer" Sherlock corrected, tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "Last name only, Doctor Hooper. Remember… first names make it too easy to grow attached"

Molly nodded. That was one of her golden rules. She moved closer to him, holding his firm body against hers, resting her cheek on his chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her. "This case though, Sherlock. It's … it feels different. I don't know why."

Sherlock leant down and kissed her in an attempt to silence her. He had been thinking the same thing. That there was something usual about this case. Especially for it to shake Molly so.

Molly sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and head. All thoughts of the brutal murder of Rebecca Draper left her mind as she battled his lips. Sherlock kissed her until she was breathless, before moving his attention to her neck.

They stood in that passionate embrace for a few more moments before Sherlock broke them apart.

"I am going to take you to bed, Doctor Hooper" Sherlock whispered against her kiss swollen lips.

Molly stared at her beloved lustfully. "Lead the way, Detective"

**A/N: oooh, might need to up the rating if I let this fic go where my mind wants it. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hearts on Fire**

**Chapter Three**

Doctor John Watson rolled onto his side and propped his head up onto hand. Mary Watson, his wife, was asleep beside him, her three day overdue belly sticking out in an almost comical way (he knew better than to laugh at her, of course.) quiet contemplation had overtaken him, as it had so many mornings these days. He couldn't believe how his life had turned out in the last few years, and how completely happy he was.

He was about to be a father. Any day now (if little Watson ever made an appearance) he would be holding a little baby in his arms that was half him and half the woman of his dreams. John has never been more excited, and more scared, in his entire life.

When Mary had realised she was pregnant, it had been a pleasant surprise. It had come at a time where they were not actively trying to get pregnant. They had been trying for a while after they first got married, obviously with little success. Being parents was important to them, but Mary knew, from working in the pre-natal industry, that it would be harder for them to naturally conceive due to their age. John had read that statement as 'his age' considering he was turning 41 that year.

A 41 year old first time father. That fact had kept him awake at night more than a few times over the last nine months. He was still physically fit, but he was going to be in his 50s by the time his child was in their teens, 60s when the kid was in their 20s. What would that mean in relation to their family dynamic? May was still in her 30s (albeit, getting into the later 30s) so she would still be young and able to keep up with their son or daughter for a few more years.

Mary and John had chosen not to find out the sex of their new addition, wanting to be excited by the outcome, but John was willing to bet real money that they would be welcoming a son home in the next few days. He and Sherlock had discussed it, at length, deducing all they could and researching methods of working it out. A boy, he was sure of it. Mary still liked to think there was an outside chance that it was a girl. As clichéd as it was, John didn't care, as long as the child was healthy and happy.

John looked at the time on the clock on the bedside table. It was 5:30 in the morning, as good as time as any to get up and get things started for the day.

He had saved up a month worth of holidays, and had officially started them the previous Friday. He had been off worth for only three days, and he was already bored. The house was clean, the washing was organised, he had cooked and frozen a whole bunch of meals, childproofed the kitchen (even though Mary had rightly told him that that wasn't necessary yet) and finalised everything in the nursery (even though the cot was in their room for the first few months at least). He was running out of things to do, but would not result to terrible television the way Mary had since the beginning of her maternity leave.

"Morning Sherlock" John mumbled sleepily as he entered the kitchen, he then paused when he realised what he had said. Sherlock Holmes was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking coffee and looking through a crime scene file. "Sherlock?"

"Rebecca Draper, 29, tortured and murdered." Was all Sherlock said. He closed the file and held it up, waving it enticingly in front of his friend. "Take a look"

John was in two minds. He didn't want to read the file, especially after the word tortured had been used in its content's description, but he had little else to do, and since both Mary and Molly had forbidden him from working with Sherlock, at least for a few months while things settled with the baby, he was going to miss all the fun.

The doctor took the file and flipped it open, paling when he saw the first picture. "Oh God" he muttered, and then looked over the top of the folder to Sherlock. The detective sat, staring at the countertop, and if he didn't know any better, John would say that his friend was shaken by the pictures. "Seems interesting? An 8 at least. I thought you would have said something. About how great of a case this is"

"But it isn't" Sherlock replied, exasperated, a hint of something unfamiliar in his voice. "There is something about this case john, something I can't put a finger on. That's why I want you to have a look at it. Fresh eyes. I would have asked Molly, but she was so horrified after the autopsy."

"I can see why" John admitted, flipping through the papers and reading the various reports quickly. He looked up at Sherlock again, noticing something "when was the last time you slept?"

"I dozed after… I got a few minutes last night" Sherlock told him.

"And before that?" John asked. "You've been jumping from case to case and you haven't let your body catch up. You have to look after yourself better Sherlock!"

"It's not my fault that Lestrade is incompetent" Sherlock grumbled, dismissing his friend with the wave of his hand. It was still, after all these years and the physical distance, that the doctor looked after his best friend "I'll sleep after we close this case"

But he had spoken to soon, it seemed, as his phone, which was sitting on the table beside him, beeped. Lestrade was calling him into work. They had found another body.

"I've got to go John" Sherlock said, standing and pushing in the chair behind him. "Keep that file and read over it…if anything jumps out at you"

John nodded as his friend left.

John sat and studied the case file for a little longer, stopping only when a groan from the hallway alerted him to the fact that Mary was awake and making her way to the kitchen. He went to assist her, helping her sit in a chair at the table. "I am a whale"

"A gorgeous whale" John smiled, kissing his wife on the top of the head.

"Is it harsh to say that his kid has overstayed its welcome in the casa de womb?"

John laughed a little, placing a glass of juice in front of her. She smiled her thanks. "Well, Dr. Craig said…"

"Yeah, I know, if there is no movement in the next three days, he'll induce me. I know the process. I am just not sure that I can handle another three days of this. I miss moving around comfortably, I miss being about to see my feet. I have such cute feet John!" She whinged.

John laughed again and popped bread in the toaster. "We just need to be patient"

"You know me at Christmas time; I practically sleep under the tree. I am not a patient person" She smiled, rubbing her hand over her belly. "I just want to meet little Jesse?"

John considered it for a second, then screwed up his face and shook his head. It was a game they had started a few weeks earlier. Throwing out names whenever a conversation led them to it. They hoped that they would spontaneously name their baby.

"I want to meet Little Malcolm too" John replied.

"Oh, Malcolm! I like that one" Mary clicked her fingers and pointed at the fridge "Put it on the list!" a magnetic whiteboard on the front of the fridge had two lists. Passable girl's names (Bonnie, Dianna, Kate) and acceptable boy's names (Colin, Alex, jack and now Malcolm) were there, as well as what others thought they should call their child (Sherlock was written in big letters across the bottom of both the male and female lists. Mary had made sure that the detective knew that there was no way in hell that he was going to be having a daughter named Sherlock)

After finishing his task, he turned to spread jam on toast, only to be interrupted by Mary asking "Hey, what's this?"

He looked over his shoulder as Mary lifted the manila folder. "Mary no!"

But it was too late. Mary had opened the folder. Her hand came to her mouth and she dropped it to the table. John noticed that she had not seen any of the pictures, and thanked the lord that he had shuffled the reports to the front.

"Just a case Sherlock needed help with" John said, moving to take the file away. Mary held up her hand stopping him. Mary, whilst not a fan of the detective work that her friends did, had proven herself useful on cases before, looking at things with fresh, almost innocent eyes.

"This is terrible. This poor woman"

"Yeah, it is bad. It has shaken Molly, and even Sherlock looked a little out of whack about it" John replied. "Said that there was something about it that he couldn't place. Don't go into too much depth, there are some pretty terrible photos in there"

John's warning however, was a few seconds to late. Mary had just flipped the page, revealing one of the photographs. "Oh my god!"

Mary held up the photograph. Luckily, it was one of the morgue photos that Molly had taken post autopsy. The headshot was of the victim without blood or make up, eyes closed and looking well and truly deceased. "John, this woman…this woman looks like Molly"

John took another look at the photograph. If he looked, really looked, he could see a slight resemblance between the victim and his friend, but it was not enough to be concerning. John, dismissing it as a coincidence, closed the file and went to stash it in his desk draw. He didn't want Mary looking at things like that. Stress was not what she needed right now.

Sherlock strolled into the movie theatre pausing only to nod at Donovan. She lifted her chin at him, and then pointed in the direction of the Detective Inspector, who was up on a stage.

"Melissa Featherington" Greg said, indicating to the body at his feet. The woman was laying face down in small pool of blood, dressed in what looked like a French maid's costume.

"Why is she dressed like that?" Sherlock asked.

"She was killed in a midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show" Greg rolled his eyes at the blank look that the detective was giving him. "It's a pop culture thing Sherlock. People dress as their favourite characters from the film. They then sing and dance and act out their favourite scenes."

"Sounds ridiculous"

"Well, we can't all find happiness at crime scenes. Us mere mortals have to find our fun elsewhere."

"I find fun outside of crime scenes" Sherlock replied, stepping over the body to investigate something. It was true, in recent years; he had been finding life outside of crime scenes more and more satisfying. Lying in bed reading with Molly or having long conversations about life with Henry were by far his favourite things to do.

Sherlock rounded on Lestrade. "Have you rolled the body yet?"

Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock knelt beside the woman, running his hands carefully down the corpses' side, feeling for something in particular. "What?"

Sherlock held up his hand to silence the other man. "This scene is connected to the last" Sherlock murmured, and then took the body before him by the shoulder and the hip, turning it onto its back.

The movement revealed wounds of identical length and a uniformity of distance down the woman's legs, starting at hip and working downwards. As the wounds worked further down the legs of the victim, they became smaller, explaining why no one had been able to see them when the body was face down.

"Same M.O." Lestrade sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Indeed. Uniform slashings of the flesh on a victim that we have found face down." Sherlock turned away from the other collected police officers, and only when he was sure that only Greg would see him, he smiled a little. "A puzzle"

"Don't look so happy" Lestrade mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, but he knew that deep down inside Sherlock was not actually happy about the murder. Molly had texted him saying that she was still quite shaken by the case and let on that Sherlock found it unusual also. "Let's get this packed up and sent to Barts"

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "Molly doesn't start for another hour"

"Maybe that's a good thing" Greg returned. Sherlock looked shocked at his colleague. "I just mean, well, the Draper murder yesterday shook her, do we…"

"Doctor Hooper is a highly capable pathologist, Detective inspector" Sherlock began, pulling himself to his full, impressive height and looking down his nose at Lestrade.

"I am not implying that she isn't" Greg defended.

"She is head of forensic pathology, and the only pathologist at Barts that I trust, not only for a case of this magnitude, but also to not stuff up even the basics of life." Sherlock snapped. "If you wish for my continued involvement in this case then I demand that this body be taken to Doctor Hooper and Doctor Hooper alone"

"I was just looking out for her wellbeing Sherlock…"

Sherlock leant in and lowered his voice, and while it was not his intention to sound intimidating, his voice came across as so "I am more than capable of looking after my partner's wellbeing."

The consulting detective stalked off with a dramatic swirl of his coat, which left Lestrade ordering his shocked officers to do as they were told and deliver the body to Molly.

Sherlock had been wrong about one thing. Molly was already at work.

She had not been scheduled to be there for at least an hour, but with the events of the stressful Draper autopsy the previous afternoon, she had left early. All she had wanted to do was go home and spend time with Henry.

The decision to leave early had left a massive stack of paperwork on her desk that needed attending to. Being the head of forensic pathology meant that while she had a decrease in the amount of actual autopsies that she had to perform, there was a massive increase in the amount of required paperwork. She had to read and sign off on every single report that crossed her desk, and it was the policy that every single autopsy report crossed her desk.

That morning, Molly had dropped Henry off at Mrs Hudson's early (and while he had complained the whole way as to why Ali couldn't babysit him again, he had broken into a huge smile and hugged the woman that was practically a grandmother to him when he had seen her) and stopped only for coffee on the way in.

Two elderly patients died of natural causes the previous day. Three were killed in a serious car accident. One gunshot wound. One accidental electrocution. One possible case of poisoning and a suicide. Quite an average day.

Each case file was detailed, but Molly worked her way through them, making notes if something didn't seem right or making a few phone calls to the pathologists who wrote the reports questioning things. It was her job to be thorough, as at any point she could be called as a witness to testify in any case that an expert opinion was needed.

Molly pulled the final case towards her, opening the file to the first page. It was a suicide case. Molly read the notes quickly, going over the findings carefully, pausing only when a sentence jumped out at her.

"_Wounds consistent with cause of death, uniform in length and depth, on both left and right arms"_

Molly stood so hard from her chair that it toppled backwards onto the floor, but she did not stop to pick it up. She held the file to her chest as she ran out of her office and out into the cold room, where the bodies were stored before and after analysis.

She wrenched open the draw and pulled the sliding tray out, opening the thick black body bag that lay before her and pulling out the patients arms. Uniform cuts covered both the victims' arms. Neat and precise.

There was no way that made any sense. The cuts being clean and perfect on one side was plausible, as they would have been made with the deceased's dominant hand. The cuts being just as perfect on the other side was unlikely. The work on one side should have been sloppier then the other.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, hesitating on who to dial first. Lestrade or Sherlock?

Lestrade answered on the third ring "Hey Molly, we are on our way to you, we have another victim of the Draper killer"

Molly breathed a nervous, shaky laugh "That's funny. I think I do too"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hearts on Fire**

**Chapter 4**

Serial killer. Serial killer. Serial killer.

The words repeated themselves over and over in Detective Lestrade's mind as he climbed the steps to his apartment. Three victims in two days. He was dealing with a serial killer. He hated serial killers. The cases were always long and complex. They were frustrating as there were exhilarating. There were rules in the fact that there were no rules. Usually serial killers didn't attack on a whim, they were the crazy ones who have been hiding in a room and plotting for decades. It was cases like this that he was glad he had Sherlock.

He was able to solve his own cases. He knew that, but Sherlock and his brilliant brain was an asset. Sherlock Holmes was unafraid to jump to a conclusion, unbound by the fact that he was not really affiliated to the Yard and could procure information by non-ethical means. And above all that, he just thought differently.

He opened the door to his humble home and was bombarded by Ali, practically running from the kitchen to meet him. There was a sort of nervous energy buzzing off of her and Greg immediately knew that she was up to something.

"Hi Dad"

"Ali" he said cautiously. The last time Ali, or her twin sister Sophia had been this excited to see him, the girls had wanted money for a weekend girls trip to France. Most fathers would say that they loved seeing their daughters smile. It was true, but Greg Lestrade's wallet didn't like it as much as the rest of him did.

"I ordered Chinese. Sophia is just dishing it up" Ali smiled, pulling her father's coat off of his shoulders and hanging it on the hook by the door.

He smiled at the idea of takeaway. The last thing he wanted to do right now was worry about cooking. "Excellent, I've had a rough day and just want to sit with my girls."

"Ah" Ali said awkwardly, circling to stand in front of him again. "I've… sort of invited someone to dinner. I am sorry if this is a bad time, but I really want you to meet him."

"Him?" Greg was taken aback a little. The Lestrade girls didn't date. Not because they couldn't. Greg had no rules on the matter and both his daughters were attractive and mature enough to make their own decisions, but they had chosen not to. Sophia was so dedicated to her studies that she didn't have time for boys, and Ali was too busy finishing her apprenticeship as a pastry chef.

"Surprise" Ali laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair. "its only new dad. He is really nice and sweet and kind, and well, I want you to meet him."

Ali took his hand and dragged him towards the kitchen. In those moments, his worst nightmares flashed before his eyes. He pictured walking into the kitchen to meet her daughters new boyfriend and seeing a middle aged man, or a drugged out bass player, or someone he had arrested, or, and possibly the worst option of all, he feared walking into the kitchen and seeing one of the young cadets from the academy. Anticipation - It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

What he saw sitting at the kitchen table made him relax almost instantly. The kid sitting there was tall, gangly and reeked of nerd.

"Arthur, this is my dad, Greg. Dad, this is Arthur" Ali smiled, indicating between the men as she did the introduction.

Greg took the hand the kid before him offered, adding "Detective Inspector Lestrade"

Arthur swallowed audibly. Ali just rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly Dad. Call him Greg"

Greg smiled a little. "Yes, alright, call me Greg. It's nice to meet you Arthur"

"Artie, if you don't mind Sir" he smiled, then realising he was being a little too formal said "Greg"

"Artie" Greg tested the name out. Yep, the kid in front of him sure did look like an Artie. Looked like he knew his away around a computer and a library too (he paused his internal insults of the boy, reminding himself that he should be happy that the kid was no old or drugged or a wannabe cop.)

"Hi dad" Sofia smiled, placing a few plates on the table that she had been preparing off to the side. "Good day at work?"

"Terrible actually" Greg replied, sitting at the table across from Artie. The poor boy was glancing around nervously. Poor kid, Greg really did feel for him. He remembered the first time he had met his ex-wife's family. He had been nineteen. It was in the top three most nerve wracking experiences of his life. "My new case will mean I may not be home much over the next few weeks girls"

Ali smiled sympathetically, placing a beer in front of her father. Greg lifted it to his lips, relaxing more and more in the presence of his family.

"So what do you do Artie?"

"I am a student" he replied. "Studying science at the moment. Biology"

"Oh" Greg was a little surprised. Not a computer nerd then. A science nerd. Either way, the kid was obviously smart. "And what do you intend to do with that?"

"I am tossing up between medicine and education actually" Artie admitted, smiling distractedly at Ali as she placed a can of cola in front of him. Ali smiled back at him. Smitten.

"Both very noble" Greg smiled. At least his daughter wasn't intending on dating a dropkick.

"How'd you meet?" Sofia asked, bringing the last of the plates to the table. The twins took the last two seats at the table and everyone began dishing up their dinner.

"Artie was stalking me"

Greg choked on his beer, automatically slipping into not only protective father mode, but also senior cop. "What?"

Artie looked worried but Ali just laughed. "Not like that Dad. He came into the bakery once on his way to class, and I served him. He came back every day for the next week, striking up a conversation on the third day. He took his time asking me out on a date"

"You would have thought I was daft if I had of asked you on the first day" Artie replied. Ali nodded in agreement.

Greg watched as Artie and Ali animatedly told Sofia their story. It was nice to see Ali so happy. She smiled, and laughed, leaning into his side every now and then.

For the longest time he had worried that he had failed his girls as a father because they weren't the type to pursue dates. They had grown up in an unconventional household and had seen firsthand that things didn't always turn out. He hadn't been around much when they were really young, as he had been at one critical juncture after another in his career. His divorce from their mother, Laura had been tough on them, long and drawn out. They had been 15 at the time (cruel fate had seen the papers themselves signed on their 16th birthday).

When their mother moved to live with her now husband Brad, a PE teacher, soon after, the girls were given the choice of where they wished to live. They chose to stay in London with their father, stating that they had school and future opportunities to think of. Greg had been happy, but warned them that it wold be a really lonely life, as their mother could testify.

He needn't have worried, as the work and social schedules of his daughters were the only things busier than the life of a senior detective inspector. There were frequent nights when he returned home to an empty house. He would never admit it, but sometimes he was the lonely one.

Their dinner passed pleasantly, even with desert (a fresh apple pie that Ali had made at work that day). At the conclusion of their meal, Sofia excused herself to her room where she had some studying to do.

"Artie and I have rented a movie Dad, some new release brainless action thing. You are welcome to join us" Ali offered, indicating to the bag on the counter that had a DVD and a pack of microwave popcorn in it.

"No, you guys have fun" Greg dismissed. "I'll just do the dishes and head to bed"

Ali handed the bag to Artie and directed him into the living room. Ali then turned to her father. Greg had already begun running the water into the sink, so he jumped when she wrapped her arms around his middle.

"You're the best dad ever, you know that?"

"What did I do?" he turned in her embrace, smiling down at his obviously happy daughter.

"You were nice to Artie."

"He's an easy kid to be nice to" Greg replied truthfully. Greg had no issues with Artie, and as long as he never hurt his little girl, he would continue to have no issues.

"Yeah, but I know you" Ali laughed, dropping the hug but still staying close. "I thought you would have played with your gun at the dinner table or something"

Greg chuckled. Ali looked nervous again before asking "You approve of him then?"

"Of course I approve" Greg replied, there was nothing to not approve of. "I know of one person who wouldn't approve though"

Ali shot her dad a confused glance. "Who?"

"Henry" Greg grinned. "Are you considering what you having a boyfriend will do to the poor boy? You're about to break the kid's heart Ali"

Ali laughed. "He'll understand"

"I don't know" Greg laughed, bumping his hip against Ali's "A boy never forgets his one true love"

"If you're quite done" Ali grinned, and then rose up onto her toes to kiss her father on the cheek. "I love you dad"

She entered the living room to the DVD menu playing on the screen and Artie reclined comfortably on the couch. "Sorry about that"

"Hey, it's fine" Artie dismissed, taking her hand and pulling her to sit by his side. Ali snuggled against him. "Your dad's pretty cool"

"He's the best" Ali replied, and then she sighed and looked over her shoulder at the kitchen door. "I worry about him sometimes. He works to hard"

"He's a detective inspector though" Artie replied as though that answered everything. "Who's Henry?"

Ali laughed. "A boy I babysit for. He's in love with me" Artie looked jealous, as though he was threatened by the idea of competition. Ali laughed and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "He's 5…well, almost 6"

Artie laughed. Ali then leant to the small table behind the couch and retrieved a photograph. It was a group photo from the previous Christmas dinner at Mrs Hudsons'. She pointed out the small child that she was holding. "That's him"

Artie took the photograph and studied it a little. Scanning each picture, his face lit up suddenly. "Hey, is that Sherlock Holmes?"

Ali nodded. "That's Henry's dad"

"Wow" Artie grinned, then answered the unspoken question. "I was a bit of a fan of his a few years back. Read Dr Watson's blog daily when I was like, 13" Artie laughed.

Ali tapped the photograph, drawing Artie's attention to John in the picture. Artie looked at it and grinned.

"Dad works pretty close with them" Ali admitted, putting the photo back in its spot.

"That's so cool" Artie replied. He then turned his attention to Ali. "You're so cool"

Ali blushed and tried to hide her face. She had never been paid a compliment like that before. A boy had never said something nice about her just because. She returned the compliment, hoping the recycled words didn't sound too lame. "You're pretty cool too"

Artie grinned nervously and leant forward. Ali's heart was beating in her chest. They had shared one small peck on the lips type kiss the night before when he had picked her up from babysitting, but as of yet, they were yet to have their first actual kiss. She had been anticipating it for days, ever since they had started hanging out. There had been a series of moments like this one, leaning into one another, and then someone losing their nerve. Artie broke the heavy silence with an apologetic tone. "I am not good at this"

"At what?" Ali asked, confused.

"Being all smooth" he replied, still leaning close to her. "Reading signals is hard too"

Ali nodded. She wasn't great at that sort of stuff either. The number of experiences that Ali had with kissing could be counted on one hand, and she had never gone any further than that. Knowing that he as inexperienced as she was gave her bravery, however, and she soon whispered. "What do you want to do, right now?"

"Right now, I wish I was kissing you" he admitted carefully.

So Ali closed the gap and pressed her lips against his.

Molly couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling before summing it up as a lost cause and standing. The bedside lamp was flipped on, as Sherlock had left just after she had retired for the night. With a case as fascinating as the one they were working on now, she didn't expect to see him back in the next few days.

Molly flipped on the lamp in the living room and powered up her computer. In the corner of the living room was a small office space Sherlock had set up for her just after her promotion. She remembered the day she had come home to the reorganised space, a proud Sherlock standing beside the new desk. He explained it was so if she needed to bring work home, she could still be in the living room with them. Upon further investigation, Sherlock had purchased new everything for her, even including a brand new top of the range computer. Sherlock could be very thoughtful when he wanted to be.

Sherlock's birthday was coming up so it was time to get cracking on the preparations.

The year after his return, Sherlock had been present for Henry's birthday. Watching his son be showered with presents, get pancakes for breakfast and then be taken out to the park had made him quite childishly demand that he get the same king-like treatment. Molly had laughed, thinking he was not serious, but when she awoke on Sherlock's next birthday, he had been sitting at the table, ready for pancakes.

Now Sherlock's birthday was a bigger ordeal than Henry's was. Pancake breakfast, hopefully a boy's day out at a crime scene with John and Greg. If no crime scene was available it was replaced by a day of watching Sherlock's favourite shows on the telly, dinner with the 'family' and presents. And a cake, don't forget the cake. The Holmes men were a unique bunch.

Molly logged onto the internet and brought up two sites. Sherlock's favourite online shopping site and her own. There was no harm in browsing a little for herself.

"What to get the man who has everything" Molly muttered to herself as she hot a few random buttons, scrolling through a few pictures. Buying for Sherlock was always difficult. He would hardly vocalise what he wanted, instead just coming home with it after buying it himself, which left Molly guessing at Christmas and Birthdays what would be an acceptable present.

She clicked on a nice suit image that came up on the feed of products. It was Sherlock's style, but did he already have too many suits? Was it possible to have so many suits? Why did her boyfriend only wear suits?

Then it hit her. She navigated away from the suit and to the more casual section of the clothing website.

Sherlock Holmes owned one pair of jeans (two if you count the ones he wore when he was pretending to be homeless, but since those are ripped and filthy, so Molly doesn't count them). He owns 3 shirts that aren't button up (excluding Pyjama shirts) and one pair of shoes that aren't leather business shoes to go with his suits. She suddenly knew exactly what to get him.

Within minutes, a pair of designer jeans, three new shirts and a pair of classic black converses were in the cart. She took her credit card out of her wallet and paid for it all.

Now it was time for part two of the present.

She felt a bit cheeky as she clicked over to her favourite online site and navigated through to the underwear section. The pieces there ranged from comfortable and practical (what she normally brought for herself) to skimpy and barely there (that she would never in a million years buy)

Sherlock had never once complained about her clothes since his return (the occasional look of derision crossed his features when it came to some of her cardigans, however). There was nothing in his eyes that she should change, but a case he and John had worked the previous year involving the death of underwear models had left her lots to think about in regards to what went under her clothes.

Almost every piece on the first page she dismissed as either too outlandish or too practical. All Molly wanted was a nice matching set that she could wear under whatever she chose to wear to dinner on Sherlock's birthday. That way, he could unwrap his present in private later…

Molly blushed to herself then giggled at the fact that she was blushing. Here she was, blushing like a school girl at the prospect of sex with her long term partner. One thing that she had not anticipated when Sherlock had returned to her life was how healthy her sex life would become. It seemed that they had found Sherlock a recreational hobby after all.

"Urgh, too pink. Too many bows. Black? No!" Molly muttered as her eyes flicked over the pictures. They came to a stop suddenly, and Molly quickly clicked on the picture.

The matching set that popped up on her screen was lovely. White lace, but not to frilly, a peach coloured bow that was feminine but not ghastly. It was something that even after the birthday surprise for Sherlock, she would not be ashamed to wear again. The matching bra looked comfortable and supportive. Looked like she had found a winner.

Out of curiosity, the clicked on the link that said "See more in this range"

Matching corsets and sheer night dresses popped up, along with stockings and garter belts, all in the same white and peach theme. They were lovely, feminie and classy, just what she was looking for. Molly surprised herself even when along with the bra and underwear set she also clicked on the corset, adding it to her basket.

Only as she was checking out did she glance at the name of the series _Peaches and Cream Bridal set. _

"Well played universe." Molly sighed. "Well played"

**A/N: A little bit of fluff for you to break up the heavy murders. Artie is named for two very important Arthurs – ACD, without which we never would have had this fandom, and Arthur Darvill from Dr Who (if you want a bit of a reference to what Artie looks like – think Rory!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hearts on Fire**

**Chapter 5**

The flashbulb from Anderson's camera filled the room with an almost unnatural light. The space was lit in an eerie blue tone, nothing but the massive tank against one wall casting lights and allowing shadows. The space was known as the Great Room, the tank housed a killer whale, the newest addition to the London Aquarium.

Sherlock paused at the door of the Great Room. He had been here a month ago to see the exceptional new whale with Molly and Henry. Now, in the centre of the room, underneath a bench designed for tourists, was a dead body.

Face down in a pool of her own blood was the latest victim of what the killer the press had nicknamed the London Slasher. Sherlock hated the name, because slashing suggested that the injuries were quick and not thought out. The media, it seemed, was getting less accurate by the day.

Sherlock moved quickly to the body and was joined within seconds by Lestrade. "Our killer has struck again"

Sherlock made an affirmative noise, still staring at the body. "She didn't work here. When was the body found?"

"5 am. Morning janitor doing their rounds discovered her" Greg replied looking at his notepad where he had scribbled his notes. "She wasn't here at 3 this morning when the nightwatchman did his rounds"

Sherlock nodded. It gave them a nice window of opportunity. "Security camera?" Sherlock asked, looking around the room. "Check the security footage, not only for this room, but for the whole aquarium. Yesterday around closing time. It is possible she was locked in. Possibly by choice"

"Choice?" a voice behind him asked, and Sherlock sighed outwardly. He thought Anderson would know better than to talk around him. "Why would anyone choose to be locked in here overnight?"

Greg smirked but warned anyway "Play nice Sherlock"

Sherlock turned around to Anderson, who physically flinched, thinking that he was about to be struck. Sherlock found that interesting. In all the years that he had known Anderson, he had never raised a hand to him (no matter how much he wanted to some days), so what made Anderson think that he would be attacked today. . "Anderson, come closer"

Anderson was shocked by the friendly tone Sherlock used. Sherlock clapped his hand on Anderson's shoulder, pulling him closer to the body. Sherlock encouraged the man to crouch down with him.

"Tell me what you can see Anderson" Sherlock began in an encouraging tone that Greg had heard him use with Henry when the father and son were having one of their lessons (either in the science of deduction, or violin)

Anderson was sure that Sherlock had gone mad but stared at the body anyway. Sherlock's newfound patience waivered slightly, but Anderson managed to start talking before he exploded. "Young woman, late teens early 20s. Skate shoes. Baggy pants. She looks a little unwashed"

"Good, Good" Sherlock stated softly. Greg dropped his jaw, watching the consulting detective. There was something wrong with him, obviously, to be that nice to Anderson. Sherlock then dropped the bomb "Good to know you have a student loan debt for nothing!"

"Hey now!" Anderson began. Greg relaxed. There was the Sherlock they all knew and loved.

"The skate shoes, Anderson, area brand well- known for being vegan. No animals were harmed in the production of the items. The pants are hemp, a natural fabric, silly girl, she would have been freezing. Old looking t-shirt brought more than likely at a second-hand store. Look at her wrist, around her watch are a number of different charity bracelets. I count three, no four environment charities there. Her hair, unwashed as you correctly suggested, has at least four dreadlocks in it. Now I am not a betting man, but if I was, I would put at least 10 quid on the fact that that t-shirt will have an environmental slogan on it" Sherlock straightened up and gestured around the room "Probably 'save the whales'"

Anderson fiddled with his camera again and took a few more photographs before getting up and walking away without a sound. Sherlock turned back to Greg. "I picked up on most of that"

"I would expect you did" Sherlock replied. "I would hope that after ten years a little of my brilliance would have rubbed off on you."

Greg frowned but continued the investigation. "I've been trying to find a pattern in the selection of victims"

"So have I" Sherlock admitted. "While the murders all obviously linked, the victims seem to be more random. However, I don't believe in random. Not really. A killer who plans the causes of death so specifically would not let their plans fall through due to randomness. No. There is a link; we just have to work harder to find it."

"Any thoughts on the placement of the wounds" Greg asked. "They seem to be in a different spot on each body. The torso, front and back on Draper. The legs on Featherington. The arms on Lieutenant Smyth"

"Lieutenant?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant Lucille Smyth. The staged suicide that Molly brought our attention to" Greg replied, then anticipating the next question. "Royal Navy"

Sherlock was frustrated. With each new piece of information the puzzle became more and more fuzzy. Usually the gaining of information was beneficial to the solving of a murder. He was lost in this one though, on a sensory overload. No common elements in locations, no notable links between the victims. Nothing, other than the wounds, and even then they were in a different location on each body.

"I am going to go" Sherlock said suddenly. "I'll meet the body at the lab"

"You sure, you don't want to study the crime scene in more depth?" Greg asked.

But Sherlock was already out of the door.

Sherlock stopped his cab a few blocks before St. Bart's and paid the cabbie. He felt guilty as he entered the pharmacy before him and went straight to the anti-smoking aids. He had successfully quit smoking in his post fall exile, but every now and then he had an urge to help his brainwork a little. Molly didn't approve of him smoking ("If you must, Sherlock, not in the house and NEVER in front of Henry") but this case had frazzled his mind and he seeked the clarity of his old habit.

He paused outside of the pharmacy and pulled two patches out of the box. Sherlock rolled back his sleeve and placed them on his arm. The instant the nicotine entered his system, he relaxed a little. Deep, calming breaths followed, and Sherlock continued the rest of the way to the hospital.

Molly entered her office an hour later, pausing at what greeted her.

Sherlock was at her desk, scraps of paper spread across it. Half formed thoughts, lists of everything Sherlock knew about the case and a large map of London where he was plotting locations. Sherlock was bent over a notepad, scribbling furiously and had not heard her come in.

"Don't tell me there's another one" Molly sighed, drawing his attention only slightly. His eyes flickered to her, then immediately back to his work. He was too busy for small talk today.

"At the Aquarium this time" Sherlock replied.

Molly lifted a sheet of his work in order to take her pile of paperwork out from under it. She didn't want to get in his way, but she had her own work to complete before the new victim hit her slab. Sherlock, misinterpreting the movement, snapped "Don't touch it! Don't touch any of it – You'll ruin it!"

Molly stood, shocked. It had been years since Sherlock had spoken to her life that. They had had a long conversation about making sure that he watched his tone, and he had been doing so much better. Molly knew that it was just a slight slip up, but she was still annoyed that he had spoken to her like that. Obviously, the case was getting to him.

"Shall I get you a coffee?" Molly asked, her voice steady, words chosen carefully so she did not show her anger. Sherlock made a noise confirming that he wanted the offered drink.

"Please?" Molly added, almost passive-aggressively.

Sherlock looked up from his work suddenly; the one Molly had used finally registering in his mind. Last time he had heard that word from Molly, she had been chastising their son for not using his manners. Sherlock, realising his mistake, muttered. "Please"

Molly nodded once and exited the lab, her stack of paperwork in her arms. She would set up in the other room for the morning. She usually loved it when Sherlock would bring his work to the lab. Although she had stricter rules on his experiments, he sometimes brought in stacks of papers which he spread out on her slabs or an ipad full of pictures of crime scene. Many hours they had spent, sharing each other's company as they worked. Those were her favourite days at work, looking up from her reports to catch him staring at her, watching him as he sifted through the mind palace, sharing coy smiles and soft touches as they moved around the room in a warm silence. This time, however would not be a companionable silence, she knew.

Returning with his coffee, he didn't look up. She placed it on the table, careful not to even touch any of his papers with it. Molly then turned to leave, jumping slightly when his hand wrapped around her wrist. "Molly"

"How many patches are you wearing Sherlock?" was all she asked.

Sherlock was taken aback by her question. Molly smirked before beginning "You're more irritable than usual, a clear sign that you would be searching for something to calm you. You don't smell of cigarettes, which I am thankful for."

"You deduced me?"

"I know you" Molly replied, her wrist still trapped gently in his grip. She twisted it slightly to press two fingers on the inside of his arm, pushing them below his sleeve. "This is my deduction: the sleeve of your shirt on your left hand side is sticking out a little further than that of the right, suggesting to me that you have undone the cuff recently and pushed it up to at least your elbow. It would have been tricky considering your suit jacket but these small creases in the fabric here show that you didn't care what damage you were doing to the garment, you just needed that patch on your wrist pronto. You pushed the clothes back hurriedly, applied the patches, and then pulled the sleeves back down."

As she was speaking, Molly carefully undid the buttons of his cuff again and pushed his sleeves back to reveal the two circular nicotine patches.

"That" Sherlock grinned at Molly. "Was amazing"

Molly grinned back proudly. "You don't date the world's only consulting detective for three years without picking up a thing or two"

Sherlock laughed the echo of his previous conversation with Greg in his mind.

"I am working in the other room today" she told him softly, returning to their previous subtext of the snapping and the fighting. "You don't need me distracting you"

"You wouldn't" Sherlock began to protest.

This time Molly smiled mischievously. "Your pupils are dilated my love."

And with that Molly turned on her heel and left her consulting detective to work in her office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hearts on Fire**

**Chapter 6**

Molly snapped the latex glove off of her hand and rolled it into a ball with the other one, throwing it into the bin to the side of her workspace. She had just finished the autopsy on the hippie they found at the aquarium. Long, thin knife cuts marked her from hip to hip, the calling card of the London Slasher.

She sighed, wheeling the victim to the wall of freezers and replacing the body there. Lestrade would come by sometime in the afternoon for her findings – even though she had nothing new to add.

No additional clues. The killer was clean and paid perfect attention to details. He left nothing; no traces were left on the bodies or at the crime scenes. It was as though they were surgically wiped down, but even then, there was no evidence of disinfectant. It was beginning to drive her mental. It was more than beginning to do the same to Sherlock.

Sherlock hadn't joined her in bed, to sleep or otherwise, in three days. He had been spending long hours reading case files, visiting crime scenes, scribbling notes and wearing out the carpet in the living room from pacing, trying to find a pattern. He was good at things like this, puzzles and such, but as he seemed to mutter over and over again, this puzzle didn't seem to have enough pieces.

Molly had been secretly disagreeing. It had enough pieces. Enough murders of innocent women had taken place.

Molly moved to the door of the exam room that she was in and looked through the small glass window it held. From her vantage point she could see into her office. Sherlock reclined in her desk chair, his hands waving about in front of him. The mind palace had his full attention.

Crossing to the desk in the corner of the exam room she pulled out her work laptop. She would have to type up her report and send it to Greg.

Not since the time directly prior to the fall had she seen Sherlock so on edge. He was jumpy (well, as jumpy as the calm man could be) and he wasn't sleeping (usually nothing new there, but he had been trying for the last few years to model good practices in front of their son – eating and sleeping regularly were a part of that.)

Molly was scared. Her biggest fear was not that she would be a victim of the slasher, but that in some strange, roundabout way, Sherlock would. Last time her detective had faced a mastermind of this calibre, he had had no choice but to leave her for three years. What if this case was the one to undo Sherlock?

A plastic container being placed on the desk beside her ripped her violently away from her thoughts. She looked from the disposable sandwich box as though it was an alien. She understood what it was but for the life of her couldn't work out how it had materialised on her work station. Molly looked up to see Sherlock smiling briefly at her "Lunch. Keep your strength up"

"Will you be eating?"

Sherlock pulled a bag of crisps, his food of choice, out of his pocket and opened them. "We'll share"

They ate their lunch in companionable silence, Molly watching out of the corner of her eye as Sherlock chewed absently. He wasn't paying any attention to her, so she may as well be staring directly.

When they had finished, Molly stood and binned their remains. Standing behind him, Molly wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to the space between her partner's shoulder blades.

"you're the smartest man I know" Molly whispered reassuringly. His hands wrapped around her smaller ones, rubbing them in a gesture of thanks. "Do you need a sounding board?"

Sherlock turned to her, shocked. Molly never offered to be a sounding board for him. He had the habit of being rude and unreasonable when he was bouncing his ideas off of someone. Many times Molly had left the room upset when his stream of consciousness talking had hurt her feelings. He usually went to John for that sort of thing, the army doctor had a little bit of a stronger resolve (and was not adverse to punching him)

"No" Sherlock replied. "Thankyou"

Molly nodded and sat across from him at the table again.

As soon as she sat, though, Sherlock began talking. "I have never been out of control of a case as bad as I am in this one. Why is nothing, nothing, making sense? People are dying Molly, and I can't work out who is doing it. Who, or where, or when - nothing."

He sounded agitated, confused and surprisingly scared. Molly reached out and stroked his cheek.

Sherlock looked up and whispered "I am nothing"

"Shut up Sherlock Holmes" conviction echoed around the room as Molly stood and launched herself into his lap. "Shut up this instant!"

Sherlock buried his head in the crook of her neck. He had only ever eluded to his fear of failure around her once, and that was when he was worried that he would not be able to get Henry back. Other than that, Sherlock was the most put-together and overconfident person. His rock-steady belief in himself was one of his most attractive traits to her (well, that and his hair)

They stood in the comforting embrace for a few minutes before Molly broke the silence. "Maybe you need another way of looking at things. What do we say when Henry gets frustrated with the jigsaw puzzles that uncle Mycroft sends him"

"That uncle Mycroft is an idiot?" Sherlock asked. Molly laughed, slapping his shoulder gently. If Sherlock was back to insulting his brother, then it would all be ok.

"No, to work on obvious sections. One at a time" Molly replied. "Henry is always too busy seeing the whole entire picture that he forgets to break it up into manageable chunks"

"Manageable chunks" Sherlock repeated, standing. The gesture had some finality to it, and Molly expected him to say he was going to go back to work in her office. Instead, he said "Right. I am going home"

"What?"

"I am going to go home" he said slowly with a gentle joking tone in his voice. "Watch the telly until Henry gets home, then pick him up from school. Might take him to go kick the football around, then make him cook us dinner…"

"Sherlock!"

"Make him help, I mean" Sherlock shook his head. Molly smiled. He really was the smartest man she knew. An afternoon off was exactly what he needed to clear his head and help him start again refreshed the following day.

He leant in and kissed her on the cheek. "You finish at 6?

"Indeed" Molly replied, secretly thankful that she had long grown accustomed to the consulting detective's mood swings.

Sherlock left the room, calling back over his shoulder "Dinner will be on the table when you get home"

0o0

Henry's face lit up when leaning casually against a pole outside his school was his Dad. Da never picked him up when he was in the middle of a case. Today was Auntie Anthea's turn to pick him up from school and take him to his French tutor.

"Master Holmes" Sherlock smiled, holding out his hand to shake his sons. Henry laughed and threw his arms around his dad in a hug. Sherlock chuckled and hugged him back.

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked, pulling back.

"What? I need a reason to pick up my son from school?" Sherlock asked, mock hurt.

"No" Henry grinned. "Just not your day, is all. Not in the routine"

Sherlock laughed and ruffled his hair. Molly was always going on about routines and making sure that they stuck to them for Henry's sake. "Well, what's on your schedule today usually?"

"Umm" he thought for a few seconds, then said "Auntie Anthie takes me to Uncle Mycroft's where Pierre is there to teach me French. Then I practice the piano until mum gets me at six"

Sherlock nodded seriously while he fiddled in a bag that Henry hadn't even noticed he had with him. Henry's eyes went wide when Sherlock pulled out his football clothes and a black and white ball. "What do you say, just for this week, we ignore Pierre?"

"Oui!" Henry replied. Sherlock genuinely laughed.

Sherlock took Henry's hand and turned towards the direction of their favourite park. Not even two steps away, a voice called them back.

"Oh, Mr Holmes"

Sherlock paused. He knew that voice. That voice was the reason why he left parent teacher evenings up to Molly. The high pitched squeak of Henry's teacher drove him absolutely mental. He whispered a few words under his breath that made Henry giggle, and then turned, plastering on the fakest smile he could.

"Miss Dixon! Hello"

"Well, Mr Holmes, it is lovely to see you." Miss Dixon grinned. "We hardly see either yourself or your wife around these parts"

"Well, we can't all have jobs that end at three" Sherlock replied cuttingly. He didn't actually mean it, he had a lot of respect for educators and knew that their jobs continued to be stressful well past the dismissal bell, but if this woman was going to take a swing at his and Molly's parenting, then he was going to take a few jabs back.

"Yes, well" Miss Dixon dismissed. "I was hoping to talk with either yourself or Mrs Holmes…"

"I am sure you mean Doctor Hooper" Sherlock interrupted, getting actually agitated this time. This woman needed to do her research. Miss Dixon look confused.

"My parents aren't married" Henry said proudly from Sherlock's side. Sherlock smirked.

"Oh"

"Well, what is it?" Sherlock asked snappily. "My son and I have an appointment with a football, so if you cannot articulate what it is that you need to talk to me about, I beg that you stop wasting our valuable father son time and…"

"Henry is failing" Dixon interrupted. Sherlock stopped mid-sentence.

"Failing?" he looked down at his son. "Failing like, everything?"

Henry looked at the ground, obviously ashamed.

"Not everything" Dixon replied, feeling for the young man who she taught. "Just art"

Sherlock blinked twice. "Art?"

"Yes, art"

Sherlock had to stop himself from laughing out loud. He knew that it was not at all what Molly would say, but a sign in his mind flashed brightly with 'who cares'.

"I am sure that you will find this revelation very upsetting" Dixon was saying.

"Oh yes" Sherlock mumbled, looking down at Henry, who was still staring at the ground. He fluffed the kid's hair, and when his son looked up at him, Sherlock smiled at him. Henry smiled back too. "I will talk to him about the importance of Art"

He turned and left the conversation, effectively ending it. Dixon stood, dumbfounded on the footpath.

They kicked the ball around at the park for an hour, Henry teaching his dad the right way to guide the ball for accurate kicking. Sherlock filed the information in the mind palace as though it was the most important thing he had ever been told.

When they sat down for a break, Sherlock thought it was time to mention the new info "So, Art"

Henry looked like he was about to start crying.

"Hey, mate, its ok" Sherlock smiled at him. He wished Molly was here to have this conversation with their son. Sherlock had never had conversations like this with his own father, so he was finding it hard to articulate what he needed to say. He also was at a loss as he himself was failing at his current case, staring down the barrel of a monumental failure. Henry sniffled. "People fail things. It just helps you be stronger and better for the next challenge."

"You're not angry?" Henry asked.

"Angry" Sherlock questioned. "Angry? Henry, you are failing art. It's not the end of the world"

Not like what I am failing at he added mentally.

"it's just so boring dad!" Henry whined.

"But you still have to listen and take it in" Sherlock replied.

"I did. I listened. Then I didn't need it so I just kind of, well, got rid of it from my brain, you know" Henry explained. Sherlock looked at him, surprised. His son had deleted information that he had deemed irrelevant. Molly had forbidden Sherlock from teaching him that mind palace technique, especially so young, because he would not be certain what he would or would not need in relation to his development, but it seemed that he had worked it all out on his own.

"Henry"

But the youngest Holmes was on a rant that didn't look like it was going to end. "Seriously dad, I kept the important stuff, like the actual colours, but who cares if there are 25 shades of pink and 15 known shades of blue. If something is pink, then it is not red, who cares if I don't know whether or not it is fuchsia or salmon or magenta!"

Henry was sure his dad was going to be annoyed that he had cut him off, but Sherlock looked deep in thought. He calmed himself for about half a minute before realising that his dad had hardly moved. Mind palace. Henry shook his head. He was used to his dad checking out of conversations when his brain got really busy.

"Dad!" Henry sighed, waving his hand in front of Sherlock's face in an attempt to make him come back to himself. With a blink the consulting detective did, and then tackled his son to the ground playfully.

"You should be a detective kiddo" Sherlock smiled as he tickled Henry. Henry giggled and squirmed. "I think you just gave me a lead"

**A/N: I am so sorry about the massive break I took. Life caught up with me, I was sick, my computer died, work got hectic and I just went through a phase where I didn't want to write anything. But I am back now. Kind of. **

**I am about to go on a family holiday. Which means no internet access for ten days. Thanks family. But I will be taking my new baby (my brand new ipad) with me and will be writing the whole time (there is only so much time you can spend actually hanging out with your family) so I will be back with lots of wonderfulness. I hope. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Burning Hearts**

**chapter seven**

Molly wasn't sure what she was expecting when she walked through the front door, but what she was greeted with was not it. Sherlock had told her that he would cook dinner, or at least have something waiting for her when she returned from Barts.

She didn't at all think that that would mean Henry on the couch with a pizza box on his lap. "Hi mumma!"

Narrowing her eyes, the first words out of her mouth were "Henry, where's your father?"

"He had a break in the case so said that we could have whatever I wanted for dinner as long as I left him alone to think." Henry grinned, then burped and rubbed his stomach "My tummy hurts mum"

"How much pizza did you eat?" Molly asked, moving into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water.

"All of this" he gestured to the box. Half the pizza was gone.

Molly tutted but knew better the to get angry at Henry for eating so terribly. It was not his fault after all. Sherlock had brought the pizza and then left his supervised to eat it. She then repeated "Where's your dad?"

"In the lab" Henry replied.

The spare room had been turn into a makeshift lab Sherlock shortly after he moved in. It had been a necessity to give Sherlock his own space for his experiments, especially those that got a bit dangerous. The room was a Henry free zone, unless the youngster was in there with his fathers supervision. That didn't happen very often.

Molly knocked on the door gently and entered the lab. She couldn't be that upset at him if what Henry had said was true and a break had been made in the case. Molly was looking forward to the day that the case was broken, being greeted everyday at work by a victim of the slasher was to her idea of fun. Seeing what the strain of this case was doing to the man she loved was not fun either.

Sherlock had his back to the door, facing a large pinboard. He was mumbling to himself, over and over. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock jumped, evidently not having heard her come into the room he then turned to her and pointed at the pin board. "A pattern"

Molly looked at the collection of cuttings and pictures, maps and files that he had pinned with real order onto the board. She couldn't see any patterns in the work, but then again, she was not Sherlock Holmes. Whilst smart, her brain would never work the same way as his.

"I'm sorry Sherlock" Molly muttered, gesturing at the board before them. Sherlock shot her an exasperated glance. She hated it when he would look at her like that.

"The link between the victims" Sherlock explained carefully, trying to keep his tone under control. "Rebecca Elizabeth draper. RED. Featherington, dressed as pop culture character MAGENTA. The hippie at the AQUArium! The staged suicide of a NAVY lieutenant! Colours Molly, they are all linked by colours"

Molly stared at the board in front of her, because she knew that if she was to look at Sherlock, her face would betray her. It all seemed very far reaching. a link of colours between victims. The theory seemed very coincidental.

"There is no such thing as coincidence" Sherlock snapped, reading her mind. "There isn't Molly, this is the connection between the women!"

She continued to stare at the board before her. She knew that she should trust Sherlock. She knew that he was hardly ever wrong, but there was something about all this that seemed half hatched. A plan formed by a desperate man. "So..."

"I know, it doesn't tell us who is next, but its something" Sherlock turned his full attention back to the board.

"Or" Molly whispered to herself "it's nothing"

Sherlock rounded on her, and Molly recoiled. He had a dangerous look in his eyes. And Molly knew that she had crossed a line.

But Sherlock looked hurt more than angry "You don't believe me?"

"You have to admit it is a stretch" Molly began, then scrubbed her handover her face. "Ignore me Sherlock, I am just tired" it was true, after he had left there had been a four car pile up on the motorway that had seen four bodies brought to her lab. She had done four back to back autopsies, five coroner reports, a court meeting to discuss evidence on a previous case, met with Greg about the latest slasher victim and the back up of filing. It had been a busy day and she was exhausted.

"No, Molly, if you have something g to say, then say it" Sherlock challenged. "You think I am Wrong?"

"I think you are getting desparate" Molly admitted softly. "I think that it is a coincidence, a fluke"

"No such thing" Sherlock snapped. "Get out"

Molly sighed. She guess she deserved that. She was dating Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting man child. And she did just insult his work. It was a low blow, but she didn't want him getting carried away on a theory with such little evidence. It would kill him and his credibility as a detective if he was wrong.

"Of all the things I've ever thought of you Molly, I never thought you would be a liar"

Molly paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned back to the stubborn man she loved. "Pardon?"

"Everything you said to me today at Barts, about me being the smartest... Why did you lie?"

"I didn't" Molly responded. "You are the smartest man in London, if not the world Sherlock, which is why I also shocked that you're not seeing how ridiculous this all looks from the outside"

"Rediculous? You think my work is ridiculous" Sherlock muttered "I am helping people!"

"Maybe there is another theory!"

"Really, what is it then, Doctor Hooper!" Sherlock spat. "Because I have been working on this for days, and this is the first thing that I have come up with! What's the alternative, Doctor Hooper, what does your tiny little brain think is a less coincidental explanation of all this. Enlighten me, I am all ears."

Molly swallowed. The most insulting part of that whole rant had been the way he had spat her name. Doctor Hooper. Sherlock had a way of making her feel as though her medical degree, everything she had worked towards in her life was nothing. Discouraged by the feeling and on the verge of tears, Molly merely said "When was the last time you slept Sherlock"

"Don't change the subject" Sherlock roared, and this time Molly did back up, hitting the door behind her. That dangerous look was back in the consulting detectives eyes. That burn in his gaze ignited something in her, and Molly knew she was not going to let him get away without a a fight.

0o0

Henry hit the mute button the the television when he heard screaming from his dad's lab. His father's raised voice had sounded, and then a few seconds later, he heard his mother. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was loud and seemed scary.

His parents never fought. Not really. They had disagreements and silly little arguements, but they always ended within an hour with his dad apologising and kissing his mum until they raced each other to the bedroom. He had only ever heard his parents raise their voice at each other once, and that time his dad had had to sleep on the couch for two whole weeks.

His mummy and daddy loved each other a lot. But right now, they didn't sound like they did.

Henry stood and moved to the hallway that lead to the lab. He was going to go and make them stop fighting. To tell them that they were being silly. That they loved each other and that dad should just apologise for whatever he said and then they should go to bed.

Two things happened at once. The fighting in the lab hit a crashing crescendo, and a phone in the kitchen, his mothers phone, began ringing.

Sensing it was not the time to interrupt his arguing parents, Henry went to his mothers ringing phone and picked it up. The picture on the caller ID showed that it was his uncle John calling. Henry hit the green accept button quickly.

"Hi uncle John" Henry said into the phone.

"Henry!" John seemed shocked, but continued "Hey buddy, where's you parents?"

"In the other room screaming at each other" Henry said sadly, looking over his shoulder to the spare room. "Really loud uncle John!"

John sighed into the phone before muttering a swear word. "They're fighting? What about?"

"I don't know" Henry admitted, he still couldn't hear the particulars of the arguement that was taking place. "Why'd you call uncle John?"

"Aunt Mary is about to have the baby" the voice on the other end of the line grinned. Henry smiled a little himself. "She needs your mother here"

Henry looked at the door to his dads lab. There was no screaming coming from the room anymore, but there was no other sound either. "I'll tell them"

John then added "tell your dad I need him here too. For support. I'm organising Ali to come watch you"

Henry grinned. Ali was coming to stay with him for the night. That was the best news. "I'll tell them uncle John"

And with that he hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and made his way to the door of the spare room.

0o0

Sherlock was seething with anger. There Molly stood, the woman who was suppose to love him unconditionally, telling him that she did not believe in him.

Molly was seething with anger. There Sherlock stood, the man who was suppose to be one of the smartest of his age, angry that she did not believe some far out interpretation of the facts.

It was a stalemate that seemed to have no end.

A knock at the door interrupted their staring competition.

"Go away!" Sherlock bellowed.

"Sherlock!" Molly said, outraged. "It's probably Henry!"

Sherlock turned his back on his girlfriend, opting to move things around the desk in front of him while she walked to the door and opened it a crack. She was right, Henry was on the other side of the door, staring up at her with weary eyes.

"Uncle John just called" Henry started, looking past his mum to where his dad stood. He wanted to know what they had fought about. "Aunt Mary is having the baby."

Molly looked over his shoulder at Sherlock. The consulting detective had turned, taking in the information.

"He asked that you both to get to the hospital as soon as possible because he is not sure he can do this without you"

Molly nodded and left the lab without further instruction. She was Mary's birthing partner so it was important that she get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Sherlock stood in the doorway and watched as she pulled on her coat.

"Ali will be here soon" Molly announced. Getting Ali to babysit Henry was part of the official birthing plan so that both she and Sherlock could get straight to the hospital. "You wait here with Henry. I am going ahead."

Without so much as a goodbye, Molly left the house, shutting the door with a little more force then was necessary.

Sherlock sighed and stormed out of the lab, gently pushing Henry from where he had been blocking the path. When Sherlock made his way towards the living room, Henry followed behind him. Forever his father's shadow, when Sherlock sat, Henry sat too.

Fingers steepled in front of his face, Henry interrupted his fathers thoughts.

"What did you do this time?"

"What makes you..." He began angrily, then calmed. Henry had not intended malice. "What makes you this it was my fault"

Henry shrugged "It usually is"

There was silence between the two Holmes men for a few minutes before Henry asked in a tiny, scared voice "Are you and mum going to get a divorce?"

"Henry, we're not married..."

"I know" Henry dismissed. "But like, break up I guess. Are you and mum going to break up?"

Sherlock puled his son into his lap, holding him against his chest and tucking him under his chin. He wrapped his arms around the small boys body and clung to him for dear life.

They pair were still locked in their embrace 20 minutes later when Ali arrived.

A\N: hi all. My brother let me use hiss wireless so I thought I would update earlier then eXpected. Does anyone out there update from an iPad? What's the best way to do so because copying and pasting is driving me nuts!

P.S: I am on a massive teen!lock Mystrade kick sat the moment (I really do ship anything!) and was wondering if anyone had any recs?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter** **8**

John Watson's heart stopped beating, only yo be kicked back into action by the sound of a baby crying. His baby crying. His heart beat so quick it shattered and reformed. He was a father.

Mary, still panting from exhaustion craned her kneck to look as they took the smelly child away to clean her. Tear rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to hold her baby, but settled for asking "what is is John?"

John realised that he didn't know, so Molly stepped in with the required information. "A girl, a beautiful baby girl."

Molly was so proud of her best friend and so exhilarated that she had been invited to share the intimate experience with her best friends. She had just witnessed new life, and found herself crying also. All the feelings she had felt after giving birth to Henry rushed back to her - fear, pain, feminine power, strength. She leant down to kiss Mary's head. She was so proud.

Stepping aside, the nurse brought the little girl back to her mothers side. Mary's tear flowed in earnest as she cradled her new baby in her arms.

Wrapped in a pink blanket, Mary and John cried over their newborn, foreheads pressed together. Their fingers counted out the of the tiny bundle in their arms, tears streaming. Molly scooped up both their phones from the table beside the bed, snapping as many photos as possible. They were so wrapped up in their new addition they didn't notice.

"I am going to go tell the others" Molly suggested, realising she was intruding on a tender moment, even though the situation was not an awkward one. Mycroft, mrs hudson and Sherlock were waiting in the small sitting area outside and would be expecting the news of the announcement. "Unless you want to John?"

"No" John smiled, without taking his eyes from his daughter. "I am staying here"

John hardly noticed Molly leaving. His eyes were locked on the baby. As we're Mary's.

"Oh John" Mary sobbed happily. "She's perfect. She's so perfect"

John stroked Mary's hair. "She is. Our perfect little angel"

Mary looked up at her husband, a grin breaking her face. Confusion crossed john's own features. Mary, realising that he had not followed, said "John, that's perfect. You just named her"

Still confused, John looked at his daughter again. Mary whispered "Angelina. Angelina Watson"

John felt a tear run down his cheek. Wow. there, in the arms of Mary was Angelina Watson. Mary had been right. It was the most perfect name.

The nurse returned soon after and began filling in the paperwork. "Name?"

John grinned, holding his daughter for the first time. His little Angel was so precious, so tiny, so beautiful (just like her mother) and John made the decision then that she would not be dating until she was at least 40. "Angelina Bonnie Watson"

"Wait" Mary spoke up. the nurse paused, her pen on the paperwork. "I have one more name I'd like to add"

When John heard it, he couldn't help but laugh. After the nurse left, Molly re-entered with their guests. They ooh-ed and aah-ed over the little one, and 'granny Hudson' was the first to get a cuddle.

"Angelina" Mary grinned when Mycroft asked for the name. "Angelina Bonnie Sherlock Watson"

Everyone paused. Sherlock looked at the Watson's with shock and awe. "Sher?... Her middle name is... After me?"

"No" John laughed, loving the look on his bast friends face. "after all the other Sherlock's we know"

Surprising to all that watched, Sherlock hugged his best friend. "Thanks"

"Wasn't my idea" John admitted, gesturing towards Mary. "Mary chose it"

"And I've done it to butter you up a bit" Mary admitted finally, shooting a small, appologetic smile at Sherlock "John and I have been discussing who Angelina's god parents should be"

Everyone had assumed that it would be Molly and Sherlock. But the way the conversation was going, plus the middle name, the new parents had intended on something else.

"Molly" Mary began, reaching for her best friends hand. Molly nodded. "And Mycroft, we were hoping you would accept the position?"

Mary and mycroft had been amazingly close over the last few years. Mary said the friendship started when the older Holmes brother had been her rock after John was shot the second time. Mycroft and Mary would go on coffee dates and even had a bit of a book club going. They spoke as openly and freely about life as Mary and Molly did, so it seemed fitting that Mycroft be asked. Even Sherlock would admit that it was a fine choice.

Mycroft looked up from where he had been watching Angelina. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that was not one of them. He moved to his friends bedside, raised her hand to his lips, and kiss the back of it. "I would be honoured"

0o0

Ali wasn't any fun tonight. When she had come over, Henry had expected the usual bubbly person he had come to love spending time with. He thought maybe he could convince her to build a fort again, or maybe play cards with him or something. ali had suggested television, and while it wasnt exactly what he wanted to do, he agreed for her mood's sake. Henry questioned it, Ali dismissed it with a quick "I am tired"

The only time she smiled even a little was when her phone beeped. And her phone was beeping all the time. She would grin, quickly reply, and then go back to her mood.

Henry leant back and watched her silently. Ali wasn't paying attention to him, thinking he was contently watching telly. He was free to watch her instead.

She looked really pretty tonight. Nice jeans. A pair of high heels as opposed to her usual ballet flats or converses that she wore. A dressy blue top and her favourite light jacket. She was wearing make up too. That never happened.

Ali had put effort into her appearance, and he knew that it wasn't for him. Clearly, she had been off doing something else when she had been called to babysit.

Henry thought through all the steps of deduction his dad had taught him. Identify differences. Check for patterns in behaviours. Make suggestions.

She looked real nice (smelt pretty too), was grumpy to be there with him and was only happy when her phone dinged. Obviously whoever she had been out with for the night was texting her.

Henry sighed. Ali looked at him. Henry merely replied with "What's his name? Your boyfriend I mean?"

Taken aback, Ali softly replied "Artie"

Henry tested the name on his tongue while he held back tears. He had deduced her a little too well, and what he had heard broke his heart.

Within ten minutes, Henry dismissed himself to go to bed. Ali offered to read him a story, but was answered with a slammed door.

0o0

Molly looked as though she would fall asleep at any minute. Mycroft had mentioned it first, brushing his hand along her shoulder and telling Sherlock to take her home and get some rest. Molly looked at Sherlock. They had been playing happy couples for the sake of the Watson's and the baby, but she knew that as soon as they were alone, their fight from earlier would bubble to the surface.

The tension in the back of the cab was strong, but Molly was to tired to care. Early morning London whizzed past her window and her eyes began to droop shut. She woke herself instinctually several times.

Least expected was Sherlock, who suddenly reached out, gathered her into his arms and held her to his side. She tensed but did not struggle against him. "Sleep" he commanded gently.

Molly let her eyes close. Her nap, whilst only fifteen minutes in duration, was enough for her.

Sherlock paid the taxi at their destination, and Molly waited for him on the kerb. He paused, seeing her standing before him and stared quizzically.

"We're fighting" she reminded him. The stating of the obvious seemed to jolt something in Sherlock and he tensed defensively immediately. Sherlock looked down the street, focusing on something in the distance, anything to stop from looking at Molly. It was 5:45, and people were beginning to start their days. "We're fighting and I can only vaguely remember what about"

Sherlock, still focusing on a fair off point, muttered "You don't believe in me"

"Sherlock" Molly warned. She was sure that they would look unusual, standing in the street, locked in an intense discussion. Around them people passed on their way, not knowing the couple in their way were in crisis. Molly sighed "This isn't what that is about. I believe in you. I always have and always will."

Sherlock still didn't make eye contact, so Molly reached out and took the front of his coat in her hands. "I am tired. Exhausted actually. I feel filthy, I smell like death. I hate fighting and I don't want to any more. Sherlock?"

He looked down at her and nodded, anger and tension melting away from him. It wasn't the apology that he felt he deserved, but he was sure that if they were to continue to fight about it he would find something that he needed to apologise for, and he didn't want to do that either. Sherlock found it hard to remain angry at Molly anyway. Grudges were hard to hold when they were against the most important person in the world.

"You are more then likely right about the colour thing" she yawned. Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, but knew from her tone that she wasn't just saying that to please him. Molly sighed and tugged on his coat to draw his attention. "You're still fighting me on the inside, aren't you"

Sherlock shook his head and then did something Molly had only seen a handful of times. Sherlock yawned. A deep, lung filling yawn that shocked her enough to make her giggle. "Bed?"

Molly nodded, then stepped forward, placing a tentative kiss on his lips. Sherlock smiled softly and whispered "I am too tired to kiss back"

Molly laughed again and took his hand, leading Sherlock into the building and up the stairs.

When they entered their flat, the television in the living room was on an early morning talk and news show. Ali stood in the threshold of the kitchen, sipping a coffee and glaring daggers at the television. She looked over her shoulder at the couple as they entered. "Hey"

Molly returned the greeting and then glanced at the television. The title along the bottom of the screen read "London in terror: the slasher continues" a woman on the screen was talking about safety tips, and the morning news anchor kept cutting in, saying they were only minutes away from crossing to a press conference at New Scotland Yard.

"Has there been another victim?" Sherlock asked suddenly, looking at the display on his phone. No new texts from Lestrade.

"No" Ali replied, frowning into her mug "But some dickhead politician said dad's not doing his job properly because he hasn't caught the guy yet. Now there is public outrage, a witch hunt against dad and Sally"

Molly wrapped an arm around Ali, hearing the concern in her voice. Ali looked at her watch then suddenly said "I shouldn't be watching this. If you dont need me, I'll go?"

"Of course" Molly gave the younger woman and hug. "Was he good for you last night?"

"He..." Ali hesitated. "He's a bit upset. Found out about my boyfriend"

Molly chuckled softly, but knew that Henry would have taken that news pretty hard. They said their goodbyes again, and Ali left. Sherlock was muttering at the television as they showed the highlights package of the politician insulting the prowess of Scotland Yard, specifically the "inability if detective inspector Lestrade, a man known for calling in amateur investigators, in catching the culprit or even identifying a suspect"

"Who are they calling an amateur!" Sherlock said, using the last of his energy on aggressively switching off the tv. Molly ran her hand through his curls in a calming manner and stated again "bed?"

"Go shower" Sherlock suggested "I want to go check on Henry"

They parted ways at Henry's door. Sherlock knocked gently then entered. Henry lay awake on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't turn his head at his fathers intrusion.

"Mary and John have a baby girl" Sherlock began. Henry made no suggestion that he had even heard his father. "Angelina Bonnie Sherlock Watson"

Henry turned his head "Sherlock isn't a girls name!"

"Why not" sherlock challenged. He sat on the side of Henry's bed. Henry went back to staring at the ceiling.

"Mate, if you're upset because mum and I were fighting before, we'll..." Sherlock searched his emotional vocabulary for the right words. "We're all better now"

Henry shrugged. Sherlock knew that wasn't why he was upset.

"Want me to leave you alone in your mind palace?" Sherlock asked. Henry nodded. Sherlock stood. "It's been a long night. Mum needs sleep and I feel like resting too. Can you keep yourself amused for a few hours? Go back to sleep or watch some telly or something?"

When Henry didn't answer, Sherlock prompted. "Henry?"

"Yes dad!" Henry replied. Sherlock suddenly wondered if tis was how Molly felt trying to talk to him when he was deep in thought. Sherlock, happy with the response, turned to leave.

"I deduced something correctly today dad."

Sherlock turned back to Henry. "That's great Henry"

Then why do I feel so bad?" He asked in a small, almost broken voice. Sherlock returned to the bed and Henry told him the whole story, how he had observed Ali and her mannerisms and worked out that she had a boyfriend, but that that meant that she wasn't free to love him. Sherlock felt and uncomfortable twisting in his chest and wished that Molly was there. She was so much better with heartache.

"Sometime being clever hurts" Sherlock began, brushing one of his son's stray curls out of his eyes the way that he had seen Molly do millions of times. "Sometimes it hurts others, and sometimes it hurts you. Dealing with the truth of things often hurts."

Sherlock suppressed a yawn before continuing. "I want you to always remember something for me. Deduction is a bit like a super power. And what is it that movie says about power?"

"With great power comes great responsibility?" Henry asked

"That's right" Sherlock smiled. "Knowing things that others don't can sometimes leave you having to make tough decisions. Your power leads you to responsibility. You have a responsibility to make sure the information you have is protected, looked after and used gently"

"It hurt when you found out what Ali was hiding, yes?" Sherlock waited for him to nod before continuing. "So you know first hand the pain a correct deduction can cause. Don't ever knowingly inflict that on someone else. It's a skill that I have never been able to master"

Henry grinned a little. Uncle John had told him the story of his father's most terrible deduction, a Christmas that had left his mother in tears. Sometimes Henry wondered how he even existed, his dad had been so shocking at the start of their relationship.

"I've never really known heartache, so I don't know how to help" Sherlock admitted. "I've loved one woman in my life and have been lucky enough to have her love me back, even when she shouldn't have. But if my experiences with uncle John taught me anything, it is that some people have to search a little harder. You're young."

Henry hugged his dad around the neck. Sherlock yawned into his son's hair. Henry pulled away. "Go to bed dad"

Sherlock stood and left the room, pausing only to tell Henry not to watch the news (Sherlock knew how much Henry idolised Greg and didn't want him to hear some of the things that the media was saying)

Without doing more then kicking off his shoes, Sherlock collapsed into the bed beside Molly. She was freshly showered, wearing one of his old shirts as pyjamas. Usually a sight that led to naughty bedtime adventures, he settled for pulling her into his arms and breathing in her scent.

He dozed for no longer then an hour before his phone buzzed on his bedside table. "Ignore it Sherlock" Molly muttered, having been woken by the sound also.

Sherlock groggily picked up his phone. Lestrade.

Molly sleepily listened to Sherlock on the phone to Greg, reaching out for him only when He stood to leave. "Sherlock?"

"Another body" Sherlock replied, kissing her on the forehead. "Go back to sleep"

Molly tried to protest, but Sherlock was already gone.

A/N: just needed to get those few events out of the way. I promise I get Moore into the murders and such in the next instalment.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sherlock couldn't help the small, self satisfied smirk that crossed his features as he pulled up at the address Lestrade had texted him.

An orange orchard. Another colour. His theory. (And a part of his brain that was till just a little angry whispered "take that Molly!")

He stepped onto the scene and looked around, spotting Greg over by a clump of trees. Greg greeted him with "You look like shit!"

"I was sleeping" Sherlock snapped.

"You? Sleeping?"

"It has been known to happen, detective inspector" Sherlock dismissed irately. "I haven't slept since all this started and I spent the evening in the hospital..."

"What?" Greg exclaimed. "Molly, Henry? Are they alright?

"I find it perplexing that your immediate reaction is Molly and Henry and not enquiring after my own health" Sherlock replied. "They are fine. John and Mary delivered a healthy baby girl early this morning"

Despite the grimness of his life at the moment, Greg grinned. "That's brilliant"

"Named it after me" Sherlock said proudly. Greg stopped and stared at the consulting detective.

"Sherlock Watson? Miss Sherlock Watson" Greg asked, amazed.

"Angelina Sherlock Watson" Sherlock shrugged, purposely leaving out the Bonnie. He had a feeling he would always purposely leave out the child's first middle name.

"God, they must have both been high" Greg laughed. "That's great, a little girl. That is a massive night"

"That" Sherlock began "and having to assist Henry through his first heartbreak this morning. Your daughter..." Sherlock paused for dramatic effect "broke my son's heart"

Soon, both men were giggling. They composed themselves when Greg muttered "Knew that would happen. Poor kid"

Sherlock pushed past him and further into the orchard. "What are we dealing with?"

Surprisingly, it was not Lestrade who responded. "Vanessa Marie Duncan. Age 20. Found this morning by a farmer. Tied to the tree. Slashes across the throat, uniform in length and depth. The slasher."

"Dimmock" Sherlock greeted.

"Detective inspector Dimmock" the reminder was harsh.

"Calm down Jack" Greg interjected, greeting the other detective with his first name.

"This is my crime scene" Dimmock sighed, and Sherlock looked to Lestrade, who had a 'not now' look on his face. "And I don't necessarily want you here Sherlock. There has been some flack in the media about you"

Sherlock looked offended for the briefest of seconds. He had known Dimmock for years and while they hadn't worked together since the bank incident, they had been acquainted since then. "Your scene?"

"Our superiors suggested that Dimmock come in to assist, since I am apparently at a loss" Greg replied bitterly. Sherlock shook his head.

"Impossible" the consulting detective barked. "This is Lestrade's case and I will only be working on it with him"

"Good. I don't need a civilian slowing me down" Dimmock said cockily, turning away from the other men.

"Of course. Would hate for a civilian to have a theory" Sherlock replied. "On a connection between the victims"

"You do?" Greg asked. "Finally"

"What is it then?" Dimmock asked, turning back.

"I work with detective inspector Lestrade" Sherlock shrugged. "Not you Dimmock"

Greg turned his back on Dimmock to covertly whisper to Sherlock. "While I appreciate the loyalty, if you have something, share it."

"I work with Lestrade" Sherlock repeated. Dimmock shook his head.

"You're a spoilt toddler of a man" Dimmock accused. Sherlock grinned, watching as he stalked off, yelling back that Greg would just share with him anyway.

"What is it then? The connection?" Greg asked as they continued towards the crime scene.

Sherlock explained the colour theory, only stopping when the body came into view. The woman's throat had been slashed, blood covering her torso.

Sherlock approached carefully, moving to the back of the tree where the woman's hands were restrained before looking at the front of her. "This one is different"

"What? How?"

"All the other victims were found where you would expect to find them. Draper and the navy lieutenant at their homes. The girl in the aquarium... But this one. She had no right to be out here. Our murderer deliberately brought her out here. Look at what she is wearing."

Greg looked at the skin tight dress that was covered in blood. "Party clothes?"

"Night clubbing clothes" Sherlock corrected. "She was picked up from a bar or club, came all this way with the man that attacked her. Willingly"

"Could she have been drugged?" Greg questioned.

"Possibly, but not probable. She was probably intoxicated but not drugged. Her judgement was... She willingly went with her attacker" Sherlock muttered, looking at her features for sign of abuse, there was none. "Probably believed she had found a nice young man for an anonymous tryst... Stop!"

Everyone stopped when Sherlock commanded it. He pointed to the ground, then crouched. Greg came to look at what he was looking at. In the earth at the base of the tree was a footprint.

"Is it still against regulation for police officers to wear sneakers?" Sherlock asked, knowing the answer.

Lestrade answered it anyway. "Of course"

"The imprint of a converse sneaker, detective inspector" Sherlock replied, pointing out the tell tale patterning that was synonymous with the iconic brand.

"It's a start" Greg clapped Sherlock on the back. It was no major slip up, but it was something. "Get forensic over here to take a cast of this print."

Sherlock straightened up and looked at the victim. Something had caught his eye. "Hesitation"

Sherlock took out his pocket magnifying glass and held it to the side of the girls neck. There was a series of tiny marks around the wounds. Hesitation marks.

"Hesitation?" Greg asked. "Why do you think he hesitated? Usually hesitation like that is evident in crimes of passion or when attacker and victim know each other"

"Yes, but I doubt that this would be a crime if passion. None of the others really were, other then Draper" Sherlock concentrated before muttering. "This one was different. It was the first time the killer looked into the victims eyes when killing them"

Sherlock demonstrated by standing beside the corpse and holding his hand as though it was a knife. He ducked a little to a more average height, making his line of sight equal to that of the victim. "No where else to look. The victim would have been pleading for their life, scared, and for the first time, the killer looked into their victims eyes."

Sherlock stumbled back slightly. "Gives us a lot more to go on, don't you think, detective inspector."

0o0

Molly awoke hours later to the sound of the violin. A common occurrence in their household. Sherlock still found himself drawn to the gorgeous instrument whenever his mind was flustered. Many a night Molly fell asleep to melodies, recognised and not. There was even one beautiful melody, the melody that she heard wafting through the apartment now, that was unique. Sherlock's own composition, imaginatively titled Molly's Song.

She stretched and listened to the music. A brief recollection of Sherlock leaving for a case earlier flooded her mind, but from the sound of the living room, he was obviously back.

Sometimes sharing her life with the brilliant man was soul crushing. Not just because of the things he would say to her in private, but because of the things he would say to himself. Sherlock was a perfectionist in some senses. Nothing would get in his way until the case was finished. Nothing, until this case was finished.

He was slipping away from her. Her fear that this madman, whoever it was, would be taking her man away from her was always in the forefront. They were fighting, his confidence was waning, he was exhausted and broken. Sherlock was crumbling, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Molly knew she would change nothing about her life. Ultimately she was happy. The pain and uncertainty of those early years had been worth it. She had Sherlock and she had Henry and that was all she needed. But sometimes, for the briefest if moments, she wished her amazing life was a little less complex. Wished she wouldn't worry every time Greg called. Wished she didn't have to deal with the inner workings of killers and their victims. Wished their life was a little safer for them.

Wished Sherlock would just marry her!

Being with John and Mary during the arrival of Angelina had stirred something in her. Molly wanted another baby. Not right away, this one would have a little more planning to it then Henry did. But she wanted a bigger family. Wanted a bigger family with Sherlock. Molly also didn't want this next one to be born out of wedlock.

Society had changed and Molly knew there was nothing wrong with what they had now, being unmarried and parents was becoming the norm, but Molly couldn't help thinking of her grandmother. In her younger years, Molly would sit with her grandmother and flip through the photo albums, her grandmother telling her stories.

One that stuck with her was a picture of her grandparents wedding day, when he gran would lean in and whisper "you'll make a beautiful bride in day"

Molly's song stopped in the living room, and then started again. Molly smiled and swung her feet off the edge of the bed, all thoughts of marriage and babies out of her mind. Priority number one now was coffee.

As she approached the living room, Sherlock hit a note incorrectly. That was unusual. The only time Sherlock had ever made a mistake while he was playing was...well...never. Sherlock never made mistakes.

What greeted her in the living room made her tear up. The violinist wasn't Sherlock. Henry stood at the window, looking out over the world, his own violin tucked under his chin. Playing the song that his father had written for his mother.

They had never pressured Henry to take up any hobbies, but over time he had developed his interests. Mary had developed his interest in football (he also enjoyed and understood rugby, but only watched it while uncle Greg and uncle John were around). After hearing Sherlock and Mycroft speaking French to one another once, he had asked to start studying the language, saying it was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard. Violin had begun when Sherlock noticed he had a natural talent for it, messing around with his fathers instrument with no actual training or development, Henry had known what he was doing. Molly knew that although her son did have talent, he persisted with it as yet another thing to share with Sherlock.

Sherlock and Henry were best friends. Molly could not have asked for a better relationship between her son and his father. It had been a fear of hers when Sherlock had come back into their lives, especially after seeing his interactions with Henry for the first few months. But over time, as Henry grew, Sherlock relaxed, no longer worried that he would break the child. It helped that Henry was just a little version of Sherlock also.

He came to the end of Molly's song yet again, and Molly applauded form the doorway. Henry jumped and turned, smiling at his mother. "Did I wake you?"

"No sweetie" Molly smiled, coming to sit on the couch. "It was a beautiful way to wake up"

"I messed it up" Henry muttered, returning his violin and bow to its case and back to its spot beside sherlock's.

"One little mistake, don't be so hard on yourself"

"I know, but dad said..." Henry cut himself off quickly. Molly looked at him.

"Did your dad say it had to be perfect?" Molly asked, narrowing her eyes. If he had, Molly knew that there was no malice in it, but it was important to her to have Henry know that it was ok to fail at some things.

Henry shrugged and looked away, obviously hiding something.

Molly thought it best to change the subject. "Have you eaten?"

Molly stood andHenry followed her into the kitchen, sitting at the table. There was a plate in the sink from toast he had made earlier, but it was lunch time now. Molly took some food out and began making sandwiches.

"Mum, what does 'incompetent' mean?" Henry asked suddenly.

"It means that someone isn't good at their job" Molly replied, taking bread at out the bag. "Why honey?"

"The lady on the news said that Uncle Greg is incompetent" Henry said, and Molly paused "said some stuff about dad too. Not that he was incompetent though. Said something about dad being tainted by some Ric...Rik...Riken..."

"Richenbach?" Molly muttered softly, turning away so he wouldn't see his face.

"Yeah. That? What's that?" Henry asked. Molly sighed. They had known eventually that Henry would find out about everything, but they hadn't wanted to tell him yet. Molly also didn't want to tell him alone.

"An old case your father worked on" Molly replied "I think it's best to ask him about it. But not yet! Wait for everything else to blow over"

Anticipating a fight from her inquisitive son, she was surprised when he said "ok" and stole a cheese slice. "Did they really call the new baby Sherlock?"

Molly laughed. "Her second middle name, yes."

Henry giggled. "Can we go visit them? I want to welcome her to the family"

Molly teared up again. "I dare say they'll be expecting you"

0o0

When Greg heard a tapping at the door of his office, he expected it to be Sally with a case file or Anderson with his forensics report. He was pleasantly surprised when it was Ali and Sofia at his door.

"Girls? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Sofia held up a picnic basket that she had in her hand, and Ali handed her father a double tall latte from his favourite coffee shop.

"Oh, my darling girls" he smiled, kissing each one of them on the forehead. This was exactly what he needed. With everything that was going on, not just with the case but with the public scrutiny, all he wanted to do was hold his daughters close.

"We're worried dad" Sofia began, opening the picnic basket. She took out a container of chicken and another of salad. "This is all so shit"

"Don't you worry" Greg stated. "I can handle this"

"We know you can" Ali smiled, helping herself to a can of cola from the basket. "We just wish we could do more"

"Oh girls" Greg whispered, overcome with emotions. "You two do to much already"

Sofia squeezed her father's shoulder then put the salad in front of him. "We just love you"

"No where near as much as I love the two of you" Greg smiled. "No matter how much they call me incompetent, it doesn't matter, because at least in life I've done two things right"

Both the girls aww-ed and hugged their dad, preparing their own lunch. Normal topics of conversation were discussed over lunch ("they didn't!" "They did, I swear, Angelina Sherlock!") until it was time for the girls to leave.

"Oops" Ali sighed as she accidentally dropped some things off of the corner of her father's desk while she was cleaning up. She knelt down to pick up the files, pausing when something g caught her eye. "Dad? Who's this?"

Greg, who had been assisting Sofia, leant across to snatch the crime scene photo out of his daughter's hand. "You shouldn't be looking at that. You'll get nightmares"

"Wait, dad" Ali paused. "I think I recognise her"

Greg stared at his daughter before riffling through the files for the autopsy photo, which showed the victim cleaned up. Her tucked it into the folder so that the wounds were covered and the face was visible.

"This is..." Ali said softly, all colour rushing for her cheeks. "Dad, I saw this girl last night. This is Vanessa. Artie's ex-girlfriend"


	10. Chapter 10

"So you know the victim?"

Ali looked around the interview room nervously, wishing her dad was in there with her. She knew her interrogating officer, Jack Dimmock, but the situation didn't make her feel the least bit comfortable.

"Yes, but not really well" Ali stated, taking another sip of her water to try and alleviate her nerves. "I only officially met her last night for the first time. I knew of her before that"

"And what is the nature of your relationship to the victim?" Dimmock asked.

"She is my boyfriend's ex girlfriend"

"And tell me about meeting her" Dimmock began, leaning forward in his chair a little bit. "We are just putting together a time line of events leading up to her death"

"I was out with Artie... Arthur Grimes, and we went to the Midsummer's... That pub on Northumberland" Ali recalled. Dimmock nodded, encouraging her to continue. "We were there for about ten minutes when Artie kind of tensed up. Vanessa was at the bar. They had had a rough breakup about six months ago and I am not sure he was a hundred percent ready to see her."

"You said you met her?"

Ali nodded, remembering the time that was only yesterday, but seemed like decades ago due to the day she had had "Vanessa came to our table, I guess she believed the whole 'we'll be friends' line that all break ups have."

"And how did Arthur react to that?"

"He got really quiet. He was still chatting to her, but all of his usual life drained out of the conversation" she paused suspiciously. "Wait, he's not a suspect?"

Dimmock ignored the question. "Tell me what you know about their break up? Amicable?"

"I don't know, he doesn't talk about it... We've only been together a few weeks..." She stumbled, not knowing how to answer the question. She was starting to freak out a little bit. Dimmock's questioning made it seem like Artie was in trouble. "Is he a suspect, detective inspector?"

"We're there any other men hanging around her last night?"

"Is Arthur a suspect?" Ali demanded, frustrated that Dimmock was not answering her question.

Suddenly there was a tapping on the door. Dimmock sighed and opened the door for Sherlock Holmes to enter the interrogation room. Ali relaxed at the new presence, the friendly face. Sherlock didn't necessarily look all that friendly at that point however.

"Arthur is a suspect" Sherlock admitted plainly, with no pretence. "But at the moment Ali, so are you, and your refusal to answer questions isn't helping."

The words made her recoil in shock. She was a suspect? Ali know how the mind of police officers worked, and logically, having seen her boyfriends ex hours before she died did make her a suspect. Now was not the time to with hold information, she realised.

"It is within your best interest to answer all our questions with as much detail as you remember, and ensure that you are not letting your sentiment cloud your testimony. Now tell me, me Ali, not Dimmock, what happened last night." Sherlock said. Ali nodded, ready to cooperate with Sherlock.

"We had a chat to Vanessa, for about twenty minutes I think. She was drinking heavily. The bar tender kept bringing her drinks"

Sherlock nodded as though he had expected that information. "Was she buying them? Or we're they just being delivered?"

"Each time she would nod at the bartender. Maybe she had a tab?" Ali concentrated on the events of the evening before. She wished she had taken more notice, but honestly, she didn't think that she would be a witness in a murder investigation. "She had about three drinks while she was at our table. Looked like vodka and lemonade. Clear liquid and bubbles."

Sherlock nodded encouragingly. "And when she left the table?"

"Went back to the bar, chatted with the bartender again" Ali replied then frowned apologetically to Sherlock. "I wasn't really paying much attention to her at that point. I mean, I was on a date with Artie."

"Your date was cut short" Sherlock prompted.

"Yeah, I got a phone call from Dr Watson asking me to go to your house, sorry, the Hooper Holmes residence, to look after Henry. I left the pub to take the call" Ali told the detectives. "When I came back in, Artie was chatting to one of his uni mates. I explained the situation and left him at the pub"

"He stayed at the pub?" Sherlock confirmed.

"Walked me to the cab, but then went inside to keep drinking with Steve I guess. Steven Richards, I think his name was."

Sherlock stood and tucked his chair in. "At time of death Ali was, as she said, at my home looking after my son. An alibi. Any further questions Dimmock?"

Dimmock shook his head, Sherlock gestured for Ali to leave the room with him.

Greg wrapped his arms around his daughter as soon as she left the interrogation room. Ali clung to her father, finally letting her emotions and fear out onto his shoulde. "I am sorry I couldn't be in there with you"

"I understand dad" Ali whispered. "Dad? What's going to happen to Artie?"

Greg didn't answer, instead burying her head in the crook of his neck again. Sherlock watched the exchange briefly until his phone dinged in his pocket. He checked it and grinned. "Iam going home"

No one really paid attention to the consulting detective who navigated his way out of Scotland Yard without looking at anything but his phone, and the picture message he'd just received from Molly of Henry holding baby Angelina

0o0

"Dad!" Henry jumped off the couch and ran across the living room. Sherlock broke into a grin when he saw his son. "Mum said you probably wouldn't be home tonight."

"Did she?" Sherlock smiled, fluffing his sons hair while he took off his coat. "Well, your mum can be quite wrong sometimes..."

"Sherlock!" A voice warned from the kitchen. Molly peaked her head out, smiling as she did so. Sherlock crossed the distance to kiss her.

"Thank you for that photo" he grinned

"Thank you for coming home" Molly smiled, turning back to the kitchen "We haven't had a family dinner in a while"

Sherlock quickly washed up then the three of them made dinner. Sherlock and Henry had an in depth discussion about football while they worked, Molly having to hide her giggles every time Sherlock purposely asked a silly question. Sherlock enjoyed learning from their son almost as much as Henry enjoyed learning from his dad

They sat at the table together, Henry finally pulling Molly into the conversation about football when he remembered that she used to play. Molly had them both enthralled as she described a penalty shoot out that she was involved in when her St Bart's team had been in the playoff.

Sherlock put Henry to bed, telling Molly to go and relax. If there was one thing Sherlock loved, it was putting his son to bed. They read the next chapter of Henry's book together, then with a kiss on the cheek, Sherlock left his boy to sleep.

Sherlock reclined on the bed, listening to the sound of the shower in the ensuite bathroom. He was honestly trying not to doze. The small amount of sleep he had gotten earlier that morning had all but left his body. He was fast approaching exhaustion again, and was very glad he was home.

His eyes were closed when he heard the door to the bathroom open. He could sense Molly moving around the room, probably starting her evening routine. Usually Sherlock liked to watch as Molly moisturised her face and brushed her hair. but this evening, on the borders of his mind palace, his eyes were too heavy to open.

A small clearing of her throat suggested that Molly was standing beside the bed. Sherlock cracked an eye, and what he saw made him sit up.

"I was saving this for your birthday" Molly whispered, her voice a mix of nervous energy and masterful seduction. Sherlock looked her over, her long legs, the delicate white panties with the peach bow, the gently curve if her hip, shapely breasts in a matching bra, her hair falling delicately around her shoulders. "But I thought..."

Sherlock didn't give her time to finish the thought, grabbing her around her waist and throwing her to the bed, kneeling above her. Molly giggled and scooted up the bed to rest on the pillows.

"You approve?"

Sherlock's response was to launch himself at her, all thoughts of his previous exhaustion gone. Hands ran over her sides as he devoured her neck, Molly's laughs turning into moans and gasps.

Molly's hands unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt as he continued his explorations, hands becoming bolder as they reached their desired destinations. He task was put on hold as Sherlock gently pulled her up from the pillows and fumbled with the clasp at the back.

"Smartest man alive" Molly whispered playfully, moving his hands away and undoing the clasp herself. "Perplexed by bra straps"

Sherlock punished her with his mouth for that statement. Molly still giggled through the kisses.

But then the mood changed. Sherlock stared deep into Molly's eyes, stroking her cheek softly, and whispered "I don't know what I'd ever do without you, Molly Hooper"

A tear came to her eyes. "I am not going anywhere, Sherlock Holmes"

Their lovemaking was tender and loving, and afterwards they dozed in each others arms. Molly stroked Sherlock's back. The muscles were relaxed but strong under his skin, and he shivered slightly as she ran her nails against him.

"Sherlock" she whispered.

"Yes Molly?" He mumbled into his pillow, eyes remaining closed.

She took a deep, steadying breath and asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue longer then she realised. "Will you marry me?"

A/N: for morbid by default, who suggested the fight wouldn't be over until there was insinuated make up sex. Lol. Hope this is ok. I am terrible at writing this sort if stuff!


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock blinked twice but did not turn his head to face Molly. Her hand had stilled on his back, her fingertips grazing his muscle. He could practically hear the sound of her heart beating. Anticipation.

A million thoughts ran through his head at once, all the doors to all the rooms of the mind palace had been thrown open and information was flooding him. Everything he knew about Molly, life, love and marriage was bombarding him.

Molly had proposed. Marriage.

Molly wanted to marry him.

"Sherlock?" Molly questioned in a soft, fearful voice, as though speaking at any more then a whisper would be too much for her. She felt ridiculous. Molly hadn't actually been sure if what would happen when she had asked. Part if her had hoped he would agree straight away or that the question would at least open up a dialogue so that they could talk about it. But this reaction, Sherlock catatonic, had not been what she had hoped for.

"I'll take that as a no then?" She mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. As soon as she said it, regret crippled her. Sherlock's voice floated to the forefront of her memory, of that Christmas when he had told her not to make jokes. It was true, she was not very good at them.

Sherlock hadn't moved, and that was driving her to utter distraction. She hated herself for asking the question to begin with. What was she thinking? Maybe she hadn't been? Asking him to marry. What part of her honestly thought that that was a stood idea.

Molly felt like crying. Tears actually did well in her eyes. Silence was as bad as a no. She knew that Sherlock was an over thinker, and probably needed time with the proposition, but each passing second was like another little stab. He was going to say no, she was sure if it.

"Sherlock" she began again, but she was unsure as to what she intended on saying. Should she take it back? Pretend it was all just a joke? Tell him that she didn't really mean it?

But she did mean it, so this was one statement she didn't intend in revoking.

He was still just laying there, and soon her sadness turned to anger. She had her heart in the line, yet again, and he was ignoring it. He was just laying there like a lump. Eyes closed as though he needed soothing, as though the very idea if marrying her was bringing him pain. She retracted her hand from his back as though it was on fire.

She fought temptation to say his name again. Instead, she pulled her legs to her chest and rested her head in them. They sat like that for what felt like hours, but was really only minutes.

Sherlock only moved when his phone on the bedside table rang. Molly glared at him as he reached out to answer it. At least she knew where his priorities were.

Sherlock sat up and retrieved his clothing from the floor, keeping his back to Molly. Molly buried her head in her knees again so that she didn't have to watch him.

"Don't go Sherlock" Molly said suddenly, surprising even herself. Sherlock paused, his hands in his shoe laces. She thought for a second that she had gotten through to him. "I think we should talk about this"

Sherlock continued tying his shoe and then moved to the next one. Molly shook her head.

"There's been another murder" Sherlock said. It was the first thing he had said in almost half an hour, and while it was not an alien statement from his mouth, it shocked Molly to no end.

"Another..." Molly muttered, then shook her head. "Sherlock, I don't care. I want to talk about this!"

Sherlock stood, ignoring her plea, and moved towards the bedroom door.

"Sherlock?" Molly tried one last time, but then he was gone.

Molly stared at the bedroom door for a good ten minutes before the first tears ran down her cheeks. She didn't understand. She would obviously never understand. She had thought herself accustomed to the peculiar behaviours of Sherlock, but the last hour of her life had been an all time low.

Part of her wished he had just said no. Or his favourite 'don't be ridiculous!'

Molly stood, still crying, and put on her pyjamas, balling up her sexy underwear and throwing it into the hamper in distain. She then crawled into bed and buried her head in the pillows, letting them swallow her sobs.

0o0

Sherlock stared at the crime scene before him. It was much the same as all the others, except this one was wrong. "What's her colour?"

Lestrade looked from the body before him to the consulting detective beside him and shrugged. "We haven't found it yet"

"Rubbish" Sherlock snapped, walking around the crime scene yet again. This one had been found in her bedroom, much like a few of the other victims. "It's not one of ours"

"What?" Lestrade said, rubbing the back of his neck. "No a victim of the slasher? A copycat? Are you sure?"

Sherlock dismissed all of the questions, instead looking through all the items in the room one by one, searching for anyway they were linked other then the wounds. The body that lay on the bed was positioned awkwardly, and while the wounds were consistent with the other murders, there were no other obvious connections.

Sherlock then paused. He turned to the body again. "How old did you say she was?"

"16. poor thing" Lestrade responded, glancing at the body before him. His daughters were so close in age to her that this scene was hard to look at.

"It's the first time that the victim had been this young" Sherlock mumbled. "Definitely not our killer. Where's her phone?"

Greg moved to the evidence bag on the desk beside him and threw Sherlock the iPhone. Sherlock caught it and pressed the home button, lighting up the home screen. The lock screen stared him down and Sherlock sighed.

"What's her birthday?"

Greg looked at the file he had in his hand "April 7th"

Sherlock typed 0704 and almost laughed as the phone unlocked. Teenagers were so predictable.

He browsed the messages before throwing it back to Greg. "The boyfriend. He did it"

"What makes you so sure?" Greg asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Their message history is very juicy. Discussions of sexual activity that she is not ready for. He's pressuring her to be ready. She snuck out on the weekend and is now grounded. He seemed angry in his most recent text, suggesting that he is just going to come over and climb through the window anyway. That window."

"You're saying this kid is the slasher?" Greg asked, shocked.

"Stop impersonating Anderson and listen please." Sherlock snapped. "A copy cat. Something happened, and now that girl is dead. Someone, the boyfriend I say, tried to cover it up by making it look like the slasher!"

Greg nodded carefully, instinctually he would trust Sherlock to the ends of the earth, but with all that had been going on in the last few days, he wasn't sure he could. It was his career on the line if Sherlock was wrong.

"I'll get the boy in" Greg said. "Will you be present at the interview?"

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "Nah, better get back. I left a bit of a mess at home"

0o0

He didn't go straight home however. Walking aimlessly lead him to Baker Street, his old home, and the current home of Dr and Mrs Watson. Any other day he would continue to walk, but from his spot on the street he could see his friend in the window, still awake, nursing his daughter.

Sherlock entered and moved quickly up the stairs. The noise of Angelina's cries met him just outside the door.

"Shh" John soothed, trying to hush the baby in his arms "shh, you'll wake mummy"

"Want me to take her?" Sherlock asked. John jumped at the voice behind him, clutching Angelina to his chest.

"How did you get in?"

"Emergency key, John" Sherlock sighed, wishing his friend had not asked such a silly question. John, still recovering from his fright, held out Angelina when Sherlock insisted. It had been a long night and no matter what he tried, he couldn't get the girl to settle, maybe Sherlock could.

Almost instantly Angelina stopped crying. John muttered a few curse words before adding "Cuppa?"

"Please" Sherlock confirmed, sitting on the edge of the sofa and adjusting Angelina so that she could lean against his chest. He had missed this part of Henry's childhood, having been searching for Moriarty and his henchmen at the time, and while holding the baby in his arms was unusual, he couldn't say he did not enjoy it.

"If someone had of told me seven years ago that you would be the better dad out of the two of us, I would of laughed" John laughed, bringing his coffee over and putting it in front if him in the table. John then sat down.

"Wouldn't say that" Sherlock sighed. "At least your the better husband of the two of us."

John looked to his friend. "What happened? You and Molly fighting? Henry told me the other day that you had been yelling at one a other"

"No, we made up" Sherlock shook his head, leaning back and trying to get comfortable with a two day old on his chest. "John, she asked me to marry her"

John broke into a smile. "Congratulations! That's great mate!"

"Is it?"

"Sherlock?" John asked in a questioning tone, getting the feeling he would not like where the rest of this was heading. "Sherlock, what did you say to her?"

"Nothing" Sherlock admitted, a slight tone of shame in his voice.

"Nothing?" John repeated. "As in you didn't respond."

Sherlock nodded in affirmation. John was glad he didn't have Angelina in his hands, as he brought them both to his face, pressing his palms against his eyes.

"Why the hell not Sherlock?" He ground out a second later.

Sherlock remained silent and busied himself with adjusting Angelina on his chest so that she was laying more comfortably for him. Sometime in the last few minutes she had dropped off to sleep. "It wasn't her place to ask" he whispered finally.

John did a double take. "Wasn't her place..."

"The man is suppose to ask. I was suppose to ask, ok! Me, not her" Sherlock justified.

"But would you have?" John asked, unable to help himself. John knew that Sherlock had plans to one day ask Molly to marry him, they had spoken about it at his own wedding three years prior, but there was nothing that suggested Sherlock had considered it since then.

"Eventually" he admitted.

"Eventually! Sherlock!" John sighed. His friend sure was clueless sometimes.

"Why rush!" Sherlock exclaimed, then lowered his voice when the baby stirred. "She knows I love her, that there will never be anyone else in my world but her, so why does she need to be married to me. It's a gesture"

John shook his head. "She doesn't need to be married to you" he began, and held his hand out to stop the inevitable protest. "She wants to be married to you! There is a difference"

Sherlock didn't get it. Clearly sentiment that he had never had to deal with before.

"Molly Hooper loves you, god knows why" John smiled to himself. "You have been together for six years, give or take, and you have been through so much. She wants to give you her world, to experience all she can with you, and this is part of that Sherlock"

Sherlock shook his head. He still didn't get it.

"Every woman dreams of their wedding Sherlock. And Molly has always been the woman to take things into her own hands"

That was true. Molly was fiercely independent and would stop at nothing to get exactly what she wanted in her life.

"So I should marry her?"

"Do you want to marry her?" John asked plainly.

Sherlock paused, a slight frown on his lips. Did he want to marry Molly? Ultimately the answer was yes. It was just something he hadn't thought about.

"Don't just say yes for the sake of saying yes" John added. "Or because you feel obligated. It would kill Molly to know you only agreed to it for her sake and not for your own."

Sherlock looked down at Angelina as though the baby in his arms would tell him the answer. He loved Molly, there was no doubt about that, but the whole institution of marriage seemed so alien to him. Ritualistic and sentimental and boring.

Was there really anything wrong with what they had? He was happy and Molly was happy and they were together and they were raising their son. They didn't need a piece of paper, or rings on their fingers to show the world that they were a family.

Did it really mean that much to her? The idea of a one day celebration to go back to doing what it was that they were doing anyway. One expensive day where they told each other they loved each other, in public.

Marriage seemed like such a grown up thing to do, and although his identification disagreed, Sherlock didn't see himself as a grown up. Molly was a grown up, he was just Sherlock.

Maybe that was it. He was just Sherlock. Sherlock who didn't understand anything about love and relationships. And if there was anything his developmental years had taught him, he would stuff things up in the relationship eventually. He stuffed up every relationship he had.

"It's ok to be scared" John said softly, taking a risk that he had said the wrong thing.

"I am not scared" Sherlock replied, but his tone sounded petrified.

"You love her, yeah?"

"Definitely" Sherlock replied. "With my everything. I came back from the dead for her"

John stood and moved to his friend, carefully taking Angelina for where she was on Sherlock's chest. "Go talk to her."

Sherlock nodded, still unsure what he would say to Molly when he got home, but feeling increasingly guilty for leaving her the way he had. He turned to say thank you to John, for the advice, for listening, for being a great friend but John just dismissed him.

Sherlock caught a cab home and bolted through the front door, climbing the steps two at a time. He barged in through the door and straight down to his bedroom, intent on shaking Molly awake to apologise. He was still unsure whether or not he would accept her proposal, however.

Surprisingly the bed was empty. He paused, about to go check the living room, when a folded note on his pillow caught his attention.

_Sherlock - I am not going to lie and say that your behaviour this evening did not hurt me. I felt at the very least I was deserving of a response. I don't know why the question startled you so. I think what we both need is time. I have taken Henry and we've gone away for a few days. You are brilliant enough to work out where we are, but please just wait for me to contact you. Love Molly._

Sherlock sat on the bed and crumpled the not in his hand. Boy, he'd really blown it this time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Ali yawned as she fumbled with her keys. The crisp early morning air raised the hairs on the back of her neck. 4am starts. The bane of her existence. Sure, it allowed her to finish work at lunchtime, but there were so many other things she would rather do that early in the morning. Sleeping was definitely one of them.

Door finally open, she dashed from the entry to the security keypad. She had only half a minute to stop the alarm, otherwise the police would come. And that was always embarrassing.

Code successfully entered, she returned to the back door of the bakery, closing it firmly and collecting her discarded belongings.

Ali was in her third and final year as an apprentice baker. She loved the work, but didn't want to work with bread. It was the pastries and cakes that she was really passionate about. Mr Hester, the elderly baker who sponsored her for her apprenticeship usually took care of all the breads and she would do the cakes. It was a pretty sweet deal, no pun intended.

But Mr Hester was sick today. His son would be coming in at six to help her run the shop, but she would have to do most of the work. So much to do, and there was only about an hour before her usually would start beating down the door for the first batch of fresh bread.

The industrial ovens roared to life, the dull hum of machinery making it hard to concentrate. Ali pulled her phone from her pocket, selected a work appropriate playlist, and placed the device in the flour covered dock she had installed the year before. Time to get to work.

Although the early hour made it cold, the work made her work up a bit of a sweat. Kilograms of flour and yeast were thrown wound as though they were nothing as the large machines stirred the batches.

The automatic mixer began to slow just as the song on her iPhone finished. The sudden silence of the room made all of the unexpected sounds amplified. Ali paused, confused, as she could have sworn she heard footsteps.

Stopping the next son, she called out hesitantly "hello?"

There was no response, but as she reached to flip on the mixer again, she heard another noise- a crash from the stockroom.

"Hello? Mr Hester? Is that you" Ali called again, trying not to give away how terrified she was.

The closest weapon she could find was a rolling pin, so she grasped it firmly, ready to swing it firmly at anyone who came towards her. The back part of the shop where the storeroom was located was still dark, and Ali wished that she didn't have to be there alone.

Her dad had tried to train her about what to do in this situation, but Ali had rarely listened, dismissing it as a silly idea. She also wished she had paid more attention now.

She hesitated, her hand on the door handle, took a deep breath and pulled the door open. What she saw in the other side, while confusing, relaxed her almost instantly.

"What are you doing here?"

And that was the last thing she remembered before her world went black.

0o0

It took Henry nearly a whole minute to remember where he was. It had been late in the night, or early in the morning when his mother had balled him up in his bed clothes and told him that they were going for a sleep over at uncle mycroft's house.

That was not an all that uncommon occurrence. When your father was a consulting detective and your mother was one of the best forensic pathologists in the country, you got used to odd work hours. This wasnt the first time that they had been both called into work to take a case that no one else could manage. Usually, however, if they needed to go into work, Henry would be shipped to mrs Hudson.

Henry yawned and rolled over in the large bed. he did and saw the most peculiar thing. His mother, asleep beside him, sharing the double bed. This never happened. Usually when he was dropped with a sitter, he awoke alone.

Without waking his mother, Henry pulled back the covers and crawled out if bed. He was definitely at uncle mycroft's city town house, as this was the room that he always stayed in. Henry referred to the room as his room, as Mycroft had taken him shopping a few times to buy bedding and toys to decorate the room.

He exited and moved towards the small dining room just outside the kitchen, hoping someone had left some food out for him. Dinner with his parents were so many hours ago.

What greeted him however, was his uncle on his telephone.

"No, no, nothing like that" Mycroft sighed, unknowing of the additional presence in the room. Uncle mycroft was sitting at his usual seat at the end of the dining room table, his paper and a stack of work files in front of him. Henry took a step back into the hallway, not wanting to interrupt his uncle if he was in a busy business call. "Molly and Henry will just stay until my idiot brother apologises"

Henry paused. His parents were still fighting it seemed. He felt guilty eavesdropping, but he wanted to know what was going on. He had sensed the tension between his parents over the last week or so. And it was more then just the bickering that they usually did. His parents fights these days seemed more heavy then whether or not Sherlock forgot the milk.

"We'll, I am not sure how long that will take" Mycroft was telling whoever he was on the phone with. Then, he added something that Henry was sure he had never heard from him uncle in his entire life. "I am sure I will miss you too, my love"

Uncle mycroft was gay. That meant that he had romantic feelings for boys instead of girls. Mum had told him when he was five after Henry asked why Mycroft wasnt married. Personally, Henry throught that that was so cool, but was sad that uncle mycroft was having trouble finding someone to love. He was so busy and powerful and that sometimes scared men off, we'll at least that's what Aunty Anthie had told him. So who was that on the phone?

"I'll call you" mycroft concluded the conversation. "I promise"

Henry decided it was the time to announce his prescence. He shuffled his feet noisily and rubbed his eyes as though he had just stumbled in from his bedroom. Mycroft turned and smiled "hello there Henry"

"Morning uncle Mycroft" Henry mumbled, allowing himself to be scooped up bu his uncle and the. Lowered into the chair beside him. Both men knew Henry could get into the chair himself, but Henry let his uncle look after him a little more then anyone else could.

"Did you sleep well?" Mycroft asked, putting toast on his nephews plate.

"I forgot I was here" Henry admitted, scraping jam onto the toast. "Mum and dad fighting again?"

Mycroft looked uncomfortable. With anyone else he would explain the situation in detail, often forgetting to phrase things nicely, but he didn't want to hurt his nephew and because of that was having trouble with what to say next.

"They've been fighting a lot" Henry admitted when mycroft didn't answer. "Are they going to break up? Dad wouldn't answer me when I asked him"

Mycroft shifted in his seat again, trying to think of a way to escape the conversation. Henry stared him down for a minute before shrugging.

"I hope they don't" Henry said, biting into his toast. Mycroft relaxed, realising that that was as far as the conversation was going to go.

0o0

Sherlock awoke, perplexed that he had fallen asleep to begin with. His hand reached out groggily and closed on nothingness.

That's right, Molly was gone.

She was at Mycroft's. Molly was correct in her assumption that he would work out where she had gone. Mycroft seemed to be the one she went to when she really didn't want to be found. She knew that his own dislike for his brother would deter him from following her.

Sherlock had no intents of following her, whether she was hiding at Mycroft's or not. Molly had requested space, and space was what he intended on giving her. To many of their fights were a result of him not listening to her. He was not going to make that mistake this time.

He would give Molly what she wanted, even if it killed him.

Molly was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him. He knew it, even if he didn't show it. His years before her had been lonely, but it was still her spirit that had made them worthwhile. Even before John's addition to his life, Molly had been there, chipping away at his walls

He didn't think much of her back then, but now when he thought back on it, a part of him loved her even then. Her persistence. Her drive. Her resilience. It had been a game, he had been trying to break her back then. She never gave in and he respected her for that.

He didn't understand why she loved him. He knew all the reasons why he loved her. How could he not? She was beautiful and pure and helpful and would never intentionally harm anyone. She was his opposite. Why would someone that amazing want him?

Molly's problem was that she loved him too much. More then he deserved. She saw him in a way no one else did, in a way that Sherlock didn't even see himself.

A huge part of him just wanted to trust her judgement on the whole marriage thing. He had never seen himself being a father, and yet that was one of the most satisfying relationships of his life. Maybe Molly was right about him being a husband too.

His brain felt like mush. Never before had he been so clouded. A case he couldn't crack and his personal life ripping at the seams. Juggling the two sides of him was beginning to take its toll.

Sherlock sat up. No mor would he let that rule his life. Molly wanted time and time she would get. That meant he could stop being Sherlock the family man and get back to what he did best. Consulting detective Sherlock Holmes had work to do!

His lab was the same as he has left it days before, his pin board covered in clippings and pictures. He was fit about the colour thing, so now it was time to work out who would be hit next.

Red. Magenta. Orange. Aqua. Navy.

Two common colours and three obscure ones. Two in the blue family. One in the pink. One primary colour and a secondary colour. No real pattern in them that he could see yet.

Time for the mind palace.

Everything he knew about colours flooded his system. Colour families and combinations, landmarks and place names, phenomenon, natural and otherwise. Flashes if information, dismissed as soon as they arrived. None of them made sense, but the answer would have to be in there somewhere.

It took him three hours, but he finally exhausted his knowledge. Nothing.

"Molly!" He bellowed "bring me a coffee"

It was then that he remembered. He cast her from his mind again and made his way to the kitchen , ready to make himself the beverage. But something caught his attention.

Sherlock's gaze went to the front of the fridge. There was a picture there that he had never seen before, recent obviously. It was Henry, standing on the coffee table, wearing Sherlock's coat, scarf and one of those ridiculous deerstalker caps. Sherlock pressed his fingertip to the photo, his chest constricting painfully. He missed Molly, but more the anything he missed Henry.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock looked at his fridge. Family photos covered it, plus other things. Clippings of cases he had solved, reports from Henry's school and bits and pieces of his class work.

A poem with a large gold star in the corner grabbed his attention. An acrostic poem using the letters of Henry. Sherlock smirked at his son's vocabulary usage (and use of iambic pentameter)

Then it hit him. He snatched the poem off of the fridge and ran back to the lab again, all thought of coffee and family forgotten. Maybe the murderer was trying to leave him a message.

He worked through the letter combinations, discarding all he created, until...

"Magenta. Orange. Red. Aqua. Navy" Sherlock muttered. "Moran, you bastard!"

His phone sprang to life on his desk, and Sherlock grinned at Lestrade's impeccable timing. But it wasn't Greg on the other end of the line. It was Dimmock.

"Why are you calling me?" Sherlock said instead of greeting him. "You know I only work with Lestrade, a fact that you seemed very happy about last time I spoke to you"

There was a heavy silence, then Dimmock admitted in a weak voice. "I am only calling you because I need you"

"I only work with..." Sherlock began.

"Listen" Dimmock cut in, stopping the other man with his tone. "Sherlock, there's another victim"

Sherlock was about to continue his rant when Dimmock added "It's Ali Lestrade"

AN: a million sorrys for taking so long to update (I went and got me one of those boyfriend things that everyone keeps raving about, and he's been taking up heaps of my time. Selfish) not an excuse, just an explanation) hope this is ok.


	13. Chapter 13

Sofia had hung up on her father three times.

She was at the library working on a paper that she had left to the last minute, pulling an all nighter with her best friend Amanda. Assuming that it was just her father calling to ask why she had not made it home the pervious night, decline had been pressed on her phone.

So when the door to the private study room of the library was practically kicked down by Lestrade and his men, Sofia was a little shocked. Not as shocked as she was, however, when her father pulled her into his tight embrace.

"Wha...dad?"

"Its Ali... I'll explain on the way" was all Greg said.

There have been cases of twins feeling each others pain, knowing when the other was in danger. Sofia Lestrade's biggest regret that morning was that she hadn't felt her sisters pain.

She was sobbing by the time they arrived at the hospital and were ushered through the crowds and into the hospital. Even through her grief, she wanted to punch every last on of the reporters who had blocked their way. Greg had had to physically restrain her when that foul Kitty Riley woman had asked "DI Lestrade, are you going to actually catch the killer now that your own daughter has been killed?"

Two men in white lab coats were waiting for them at the reception desk. Sofia felt sick. She had assumed, for whatever reason, that Molly would be the one working her sisters autopsy. It felt strange that she was being handled by strangers.

"It's weak, but its a sign of life" one of the doctors was telling her dad. Sofia looked dumbly between the two, the grave looking doctor and her father, tears rolling down her his cheeks.

"She's alive?" Sofia asked dumbly. She assumed that was what the others were talking about.

Greg pulled Sofia into his arms. "Yes, Ali is alive"

0o0

The strong, constant beep of the machines that were keeping Ali alive was the only noise in the room. Greg watched as Sofia sat at her sister's bedside, her hand wrapped around Ali's pale one.

He never considered what it would be like to loose his girls. No one ever did. No parent anticipated that there would come a day that they would loose their babies.

As a family, he had spoken with his girls about what would happen if he was injured or killed at work, but there was no plan for this. The doctors had been realistic. When mr hester's son had found her in the back room of the bakery, Ali had been badly beaten and was bleeding profusely from uniform straight cuts on her thighs and biceps. There was not much hope of recovery.

Greg had sent Sofia into the room to see Ali when the doctors suggested it, then waited outside to hear the diagnosis. The damage was severe, and if she didn't take to the blood transfusions and operations, then there was little to no hope.

"Who would do something like this dad?" Sofia asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Greg stood to stand behind Sofia, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking down at Ali. "I mean, do you have any leads? Does Sherlock?"

Greg shook his head sadly. No leads. No ideas. No clue.

0o0

The box landed on the table with a thump. Sherlock ripped the lid off of the top of it and began digging through the files held inside. Only after a minute of silent work did he realise Donovan was still in the room.

"I like Ali" Donovan said strongly. Sherlock paused, staring at the woman who he rarely saw eye to eye with, wondering why she was talking to him, of all people. "So you catch this bastard! You hear me Holmes! Catch him! Whatever you need, just tell me."

Sherlock paused and watched as the woman turned on her heels and left the evidence locker that she had showed him to. That was weird, but his continuing understanding of sentiment explained it all away, he guessed.

Taking out the first file, he flipped it open to see a picture of Moran's smirking face. Last time Sherlock had seen it in person, the mercenary had been unconscious, presumed dead, from a well placed blow from a tire iron. He had since disappeared, and after almost a year of searching for him, both Lestrade and Sherlock had given up. Looked like the cold case was back open.

Sebastian Moran, disgraced soldier turned gun for hire had been the right hand man of James Moriarty. Sherlock had put him in jail once before, only to have him released by Moriarty and back in the game. It had been Moran and Moriarty that had tortured Molly three years previously, so unsurprisingly, Sherlock had unfinished business.

Sherlock studied the crime scene photos before him, pictures of scenes from Moran's assassin days. He was known to be violent and messy, yet no one managed to catch him due to his powerful connections. People used him when they needed to make a statement and that is why he had soon become a close personal friend of Jim's.

When his phone vibrated beside him, he glanced at the text. Mycroft. Sherlock had informed him that Moran was at large again and that increased security needed to be put on Molly and henry. Mycroft had agreed, and the latest reply detailed the specifications. Good. Sherlock was glad that his brother cared for his family's safety as much as he did.

The case files held all known information about Moran, but the pictures it painted were disjointed at best. Not a man to use the same torture technique, there was no real pattern and therefore nothing to definitively link Moran to the slasher victims.

Moran was an artist. Staging crime scenes and brutalising victims to make a statement, but never before had he worked so cryptically. This whole case was unusual to say the least.

Sherlock studied the files twice from cover to cover before sighing. He couldn't think. He couldn't concentrate. He needed something he had sworn he wouldn't go after.

His hand betrayed him before he could stop it, hitting the speed dial and calling Molly.

0o0

Molly looked at her mobile, a picture of Sherlock flashed on the screen alerting her to his call. She hesitated, but answered the call anyway. The idea of letting it go to her voicemail was appealing.

"Sherlock?" Molly began, and when he did not greet her, she sighed. "Sherlock?"

Another ten seconds passed between them before he whispered "I just needed to know you were safe"

"I am at Mycroft's" was all Molly said. She kept her tone even, unsure of the way the conversation would progress.

His voice was the sweetest firm if torture. She had asked him for space, but regretted her request almost instantly. To say she missed Sherlock was quite an understatement. It had only been 24 hours, but life without him was painful.

"I know" Sherlock said firmly, no emotion in his voice "and its best if you stay there"

Molly paused, panic rising within her. Sherlock wanted her to stay at Mycroft's. Molly had assumed that when sherlock called he would be begging her to come home (which she would have done in an instant) but he wanted her to stay away. Did this mean he wanted their separation to be permanent? was this the end? She took a shaky breath and whispered "ok" through her tears.

"It's for the best" Sherlock continued rationally. Molly barely held back her sobs. "You being there. I have to sort everything out at our end. I'll send some of your things over"

Molly silently cried on her end of the line before squeaking out "So that's it then? We're over?"

There were a few moments where she let herself cry openly. Sherlock sat confused at the other end of the phone line.

"Over? What? No?" Sherlock's tone mirrored the panic she had earlier. "Over? Molly? Are you leaving me?"

"No! Are you leaving me?"

"God no!" Sherlock barked, almost hysterical. "I'd cease to be without you Molly!"

There was an awkward minute or so of silence (Molly getting her tears under control was the inly noise between them) before Sherlock asked "what made you even think that?"

"You said..." Molly hiccuped "you said that you want me to stay here. And that you'd send my things"

"Mycroft didn't tell you?" Sherlock asked. Molly shook her head, and then realising that Sherlock couldn't see her non-verbal response made a noise in her throat.

"Wonders never per cease, he kept his word" Sherlock was surprised. "Molly, Sebastian Moran is the slasher, I am sure of it"

Molly almost dropped the phone. Sebastian Moran. Memories of that night in the parking garage, the way the man had looked at her, spoken to her, tried to kill her. She felt sick.

"I am on the case, and I promise I won't switch off until you are safe. You and Henry." Sherlock promised. Molly, still in shock, said nothing. "I've arranged extra security for Mycroft's. please stay there. Don't go to work. Don't let Henry go to school. Please"

Molly let the words sink in but still could not find words of her own to reply with. Fear had gripped her. Moran, one of the most dangerous men in the world was on the loose, killing innocent women, torturing them. Those poor women.

"Promise me Molly" Sherlock's begging brought her back to the present.

"Anything Sherlock" Molly whispered finally.

"Good" Sherlock sighed. "You won't hear from me unless it is completely necessary. I love you"

And suddenly, the dial tone was in her ear.


End file.
